Life Beyond the Jungle
by HumanDictionary
Summary: A grab-bag of one shots, all of which take place years after TJM. Nothing more, nothing less. Features main characters, guest characters and some characters of my own creation too.
1. What's in a Name?

**What's in a Name?**

Now married, Arnold and Helga, both in their mid-30s, ponder what to name their second child. 

"Ok Eleanor, give mommy a kiss goodnight."

Five year old Eleanor Kimberly Shortman walked over slowly to her visibly pregnant mother Helga. She leaned in close and planted a gentle kiss on Helga's cheek after which she proceeded to give her belly a gentle patting.

"Good night mommy." She said. "And good night too baby sister."

Helga winced slightly as those last two words left her daughter's lips. While she and Olga had for all intents and purposes begun to get along better, there was still that reflexive shudder at those two words strung together, and with it the thought of their second child being constantly infantilized as she was all those years ago.

But there was more to her vexation than that; it was becoming clear to that Helga that for some unexplainable reason, Arnold appeared to waffle every time the subject of naming their child came up since they found out their child was going to be a girl. She was lucky enough to get hemming and hawing from her foot-ball headed husband on those rare occasions that they did discuss it, otherwise he just made some excuse and dodged the issue.

" _Come to think of it, Arnold was the same way even during Eleanor's pregnancy._ " Helga thought to herself.

Arnold, who by this point could read Helga like an open book, sensed Helga's internal discomfort and challenged his oldest daughter to a race up the steps and to her room. Eleanor "won", much to Arnold's "chagrin." Once she was tucked in, Arnold read her a bedtime story and said goodnight.

Once the door closed, Arnold tiptoed down the stairs and poured himself a glass of beer and ice water for Helga.

"Baby sister." Helga said suddenly.

Arnold looked up.

"You know Arnold." She continued. "It's the third trimester come next week. At some point, a girl has to have a name. And I did promise to leave this one up to you after naming Eleanor-"

"I know, I know." He said looking at the head foaming on the glass surface. "I just can't think of a good one right now."

Helga could just as easily read Arnold. He stared pensively at his beer, eyes glassing over in thought. The corner of his lips twitch upward into the faintest hint of a smile. She new her husband was full of it, for certain. But _why_ be beat around the bush with her was the million dollar question.

"Arnold, we've been married for seven years now so I can tell when you're lying." She said a little testily. "I _know_ you have a name. Spill it."

Arnold put the glass to his mouth and quickly funneled his drink. He was going to need all the alcohol in his system to get through this with his wife.

"You got me." Said Arnold slowly once the last dregs had been swallowed. "Before I met you, there was this girl from back when we were kids-"

"Look bucko." She said finally losing patience. "We've gone through every baby book this side of the planet three times over already. So, unless you're pitching ' _Ruth_ ' or _'Lila_ ' to me, I honestly couldn't give a rat's rip what we name our kid. I'd just like to squeeze it out knowing you've-"

"IT'S CECILE!" Arnold Snapped.

The whole house went dead silent. Helga's pupil's dilated as she remembered "Cecile", Arnold's French pen pal from the fourth grade. It all flooded back to her: the dinner at Chez Paris, her ridiculous poodle hair-style, the scheming note she left him, his one-sided thirst for Ruth, all of it came back as clear as yesterday. Arnold didn't see it, as he was still too engrossed in guilt.

"Helga," He began slowly. "When I watched you walk down the aisle at our wedding, I was watching every step in our lives that bought us to this moment flashing through my head. I thought of all the memories we've shared from childhood and beyond; all the normal milestones like school plays, dances, and the like, as well as all the crazy adventures like fighting river pirates, curing jungle diseases and saving the neighborhood from vengeful developers. And I thought of what a blessing it was to share what days remained with the girl who stood by my side through all of them. The girl who spent her time threatening to _beat_ me up, but always found a way to _lift_ me up instead."

"But I can't lie when I say that from now until I die, my dinner with Cecile that one Valentine's Day will always occupy a very important place in my…psyche." Arnold said stammering. "What I mean is… it made me realize some things about myself, my future, and who I want to spend it with. Everyone knew I had this _huge_ crush on Ruth McDougal back in the day and…well…nobody was going to convince me that I was not even a fly on the wall to her. Then when I did get to know her, I learned that my feelings were sorely misplaced. Ditto for Lila later on."

"Do you remember when we went to San Lorenzo?" Asked Arnold after a beat of silence. "After the sleeping sickness was cured and before we-"

"Yes." she said.

"When I saw you walking out to the temple, I thought of something Cecile said: ' _the most beautiful gift can come in the plainest box_.' Coming home that summer, I received **two** of the most beautiful gifts in the world, my parents coming back, and a loving relationship with girl whom I never expected. And it didn't come the lump of intricate gold the natives called El Corazon, but from you giving up your humble gold-plated locket, that locket you've had since who even knows when. I ultimately came to know and appreciate you Helga; and go on to share and experience a lifetime of surprising and wonderful memories that I wouldn't trade for an army of Ruths and Lilas. And it took one Cecile for me to take that first step in that direction."

Helga's heart stopped. Nothing she had have ever written as a kid could begin to match what Arnold had confessed to her. Suddenly his foot-dragging made sense. He wasn't being difficult about parenthood, he wanted to say thanks to the girl that bought them together.

"You must think I'm the world's biggest heel in all of this." He sighed walking back to her. "Me lacking the stones to name our daughters as it is. Then to hear it's all because of some long lost Parisian pen pal who most likely wouldn't remember me if her life depended on it. I know I should have forgotten her when you and I exchanged vows but, again, I wouldn't have exchanged vows with _you_ if it weren't for her; but there's one thing I still don't understand, who was she?" Arnold said wistfully. "It was like she came down from the open sky and ascended shortly thereafter. She said we'd always have Chez Paris, but even that too got knocked over and turned into a car dealership. I just wanted to tell her thank you in some way for all of this and what's to come."

He tenderly and penitently kisses her hand.

" _Oh Arnold, you poor tortured do-gooder._ " Helga thought as she felt the skin of her hand vibrate from his caress. _"How little I deserve you if you knew the truth about 'Cecile'; my backhanded preadolescent ploy to win a piece of your attention that Valentine's Day of yore. All these years I've locked the truth away letting it turn your pure little heart into sausage meat. How I've let my deception burn a hole in our bonds of marital trust. Well old girl, there's only one thing you can do for him now."_

"Hey Arnold, do you think you can freshen up my water?" Helga asked waving her glass.

Arnold wordlessly took her glass and went back to the kitchen. As he rounded the corner, Helga pulled the ribbon out of her ponytail and gently brushed her hair over her eye. She smiled confidently while looking into a nearby mirror. Taking into consideration how much time passed between being childhood and now, "Cecile" still looked as recognizable and as stunning as she did in that French restaurant two decades ago.

"How are we on that water?" Helga said giddily.

"Just putting in one last lime." Arnold called from the kitchen. A second and a half passed as he rounded his way back into the living room. Arnold slowed down and stopped as he saw Helga sitting up from the couch. A speechless shock pulsated through him as he saw her hair drooping over in that all too familiar way.

"Bon Sewer, Arnold."

Arnold's looked lovingly at his wife and kissed her. He always knew Helga was full of surprises, but this one clearly took the cake.


	2. Dear Inga

**Dear Inga**

A certain nanny receives a long overdue letter

Hillwood, USA.

That singular word left Inge Pearlmudder's face in a quizzical frown. She had worked all these years since arriving back in her Alpine hut to forget that city, and in particular one angry little girl who lived there.

But as she emotionlessly opened the envelope with the return address to Big Bob's Beepers, all the memories came flooding back instantly: the girl in question went by the name Helga Geraldine Pataki, her pink attire and blonde pigtailed hair were the only definitively feminine traits she possessed, and her family was dysfunctional to say the least. Try as Inge might to salvage something out of this situation, the damage had already been done. Life had sunk its claws into Helga pretty deep, leaving her a sarcastic and stubborn child who had no scruples and qualms when it came to staging the "theft" of her father's tacky Beeper King belt.

Nonetheless, Inge still read the letter. The frown slowly dissipated with each sentence she read until it was fully replaced by a small and knowing smile. Enclosed in the envelope was a picture which revealed what had happened to that little girl from all those years ago. Helga still had her pigtails and bow, but wore Inge's German style dress with pride, rather than her world-famous scowl. In her company was a vaguely familiar football-headed boy spoon-feeding her a cup of chocolate pudding. She seemed uncharacteristically happy, happier than Inga ever saw her in that brief time she was her charge.

 _Dear Inga,_

 _It's been a while, three years to be precise. I never got a chance to really to respond to your postcard. You know, the one where you ask if everything in my house is the same as always. It really gave me a lot to think about, now more so than ever._

 _For starters, I never really apologized for framing you with stealing my dad's belt, or all the other "mishaps" I orchestrated in hopes of getting you fired all those years ago. You were right all along; there was no excuse for what I did, and who I was becoming. I think the words you used were "such an angry girl who wouldn't let anyone help her." The other thing you told me that has kind of begun to sink in is how I will live with my unhappiness as a consequence; especially in light of how things have changed since you went back to Switzerland._

 _I always thought that I could handle living with my own unhappiness (I've been doing it since at least preschool after all). Dad would always be a blowhard, mom would always be glued to her "smoothies", and Olga (my older sister) would always be an insufferably neurotic time-bomb of perfectionism one sub-standard grade or silver medal away from being a future contender for "Miss Wet T-shirt" at some sleazy frat bar. You don't fathom just how much things get worse when you're young and have the future ahead of you, but in a lot of ways, they did for me._

 _For starters, Bob failed to get the memo that a) technology has changed since the 90s b) people's livelihoods can get swallowed up as time progresses and c) nobody_ _really_ _cries for those who lose out. So in his pig-headed attempt to make beepers great again, we've lost our house and now live as glorified serfs in his dying beeper kingdom. I've been in charge of selling some of our stuff in hopes to have some semblance of a livelihood; including the furniture, the hummer, and of course the blender. Enter Miriam who has become a raging shrew since being forced to part with her beloved appliance. Withdrawal has made her just as explosive as Bob, possibly even more-so._ _The shouting matches alone have warranted the occasional police intervention. As for Olga, she's dropped the rest of the Pataki family like a hot potato after graduating Bennignton College, and I can't blame her really. If I had the choice of being immediately hired as the secretary to the Dean of Students at Wellington College as opposed to playing the family's emotional wet nurse, I'd jet off to England and never look back too. Bob has taken that news the hardest out of all of us; he uses Olga's name with a newfound sense of venom and in one memorable tantrum hurled every trophy of hers off the overpass._

 _Yet he still can't find it in him to remember that I'm HELGA._

 _But don't weep for me, my life also has had its upsides. My grades are solid (A's and B's), my English teacher adores me, and I've been taking therapy sessions with Dr. Kathy Bliss who has been nothing short of a godsend. I met her a couple of months after…well, everything happened; and while my sessions with her weren't exactly scheduled of my own volition, she has more than filled the role of mother that I needed in my life._

 _Finally, there's Arnold._

 _What can I say about this kid? He's good-hearted, patient, selfless, loving, and that barely begins to touch the surface. He sees the good in people by default and is willing to go the extra mile to save a neighborhood or mend a friendship because he knows that it's right. Even since preschool, he's been this force of benevolence to all he's met. And the real miracle is that he took the time to figure out little old me. Me. Helga Pataki. He saw through every spitball, every, threat, every scowl, every bad name I've hurled at him. He's cut through the layers of my blustery outside and made me face a mushy and good hearted center that I've always tried to hide and ignore. Him admitting that he loved me, warts and all, is a memory I'll hold onto; even if Alzheimer's should rot at my brain and turn my memory skills into Swiss cheese._

 _I hope this letter finds you in good spirits, and with lots of work and better children to tend to than myself. If for whatever warped and twisted reason you'd ever want to visit Hillwood, I hope you wouldn't be a stranger._

 _With contrition,_

 _Helga Geraldine Pataki._

Later that night, the picture of Arnold and Helga in the park sat framed on her modest nightstand with the note securely tucked inside behind it. Inga gave it one last look as she blew out her candle and retired to her bed for the night. As slumber begins to find her, she sighs to herself,

"Oh Helga. I've forgiven you a long time ago."


	3. Veteran's Day (Part II)

**Veteran's Day part II**

Grandpa Phil earns his place in History

"Finally tonight, in a story befitting Veteran's Day, Hillwood once again finds itself fortifying its place in America's history. The Sunset Arms boarding house, already a landmark because of the Tomato Incident, receives a new tenant: a bust dedicated to long forgotten WWII hero Philip Shortman. Here's Danica Koch with the latest."

 _Cut to: A small crowd begins to cheer as a very grown up Arnold cuts the ribbon behind Grandpa Phil's monument, a bronze bust of him as a young man in uniform proudly holding up a canned meat product marked "Cham." It had been affixed to the sidewalk slightly below the boarding house's well-known "No kids, Pets ok" sign earlier in the day. As the ribbon falls, he is joined in a group photo with Hillwood's Mayor and the rest of the Shortman family; daughter Kimberly, and Helga, holding baby Cecile._

Danica (VO): This was the scene at 4040 Vine Street earlier today as Arnold Shortman, a local Child Psychologist and father of two, officially dedicated the monument to his grandfather Philip Shortman, ending a years-long process of giving the man his due as not only a soldier, but a hero in the Second World War.

Arnold (interview): It all began this one Veteran's Day when Grandpa and I went to Washington DC with my friend Gerald and his dad to see the annual parade. Along the way he starts telling this story about how his run in with a Nazi regiment during the Battle of the Bulge. At the time, I just assumed it was just another one of his tall tales.

 _Cut to: A photograph of Private Phil Shortman during his time as a soldier on the German Front followed by Archival footage of the Battle of the Bulge as well as VE day._

Danica (VO): As the Second World War reached its final days, regiment cook Philip Shortman was tasked with disposing of a large ration of spoiled Cham somewhere in Northern France. As he changed a flat tire, the twenty year old Private was captured by the Panzer Division whom he convinced to eat the stock of spoiled meat byproducts. The subsequent food poisoning they suffered led not only to the capture of their entire regiment but put a six mile hole in the last line of defense between the Allied soldiers and Berlin.

 _A second photograph montage- the cutting the wedding cake with his wife Gertrude, bonding with Miles at the boarding house, a photo of him celebrating Arnold's fourth birthday, and finally a shot of him sandwiched between Arnold and Helga on their wedding day._

Danica (VO cont.): Philip had a quiet life after the war, and made no real attempt to bask in his role as a war hero. He married his childhood sweetheart Gertrude Puckelwec [pook-EL-vic] immediately after being honorably discharged, and raised three children in Hillwood. His second son, Miles went on to be a famous Anthropologist alongside _his_ wife Stella. When they disappeared in South America, Phil stepped up to the plate again and raised Arnold as a surrogate father until Miles and Stella were found after contracting the Sleeping Sickness. He continued to be a presence in Arnold's life, living long enough to see him marry Helga Pataki before dying two months later at the age of 101. Gertrude had predeceased him by three years also as a centenarian.

Arnold (Interview): Before he died I asked him once, "why did you never cash in, so to speak, on your wartime exploits?" He turned to me slowly and said. "Shortman, what kept me going through the war was the hope that my kids and grandkids would enjoy the freedom to have their own adventures and make their own memories to cherish, irrespective my own. How could I do that by beating my chest about my victories all day? Besides, who would've believed me if I told them?" As he got older, he changed his mind on things a little, but he never let it get in the way of my dad, or me. And as hard as I worked to do this, I don't want it to get in the way of my kids and whatever adventures life takes them on.

Danica (outside of Sunset Arms): The monument to Phil Shortman was cast a full 10 years after the war ended when five soldiers who were present at the Battle of the Bulge, backed up his story. It had been hidden away in a back corner of a public park in Washington DC forgotten by time until today. For Chanel 14 Eyewitness News, I'm Danica Koch.

"Also worth mentioning is that as a child, Arnold Shortman was previously involved with efforts of saving a large portion of Hillwood from demolition and getting the Sunset Arms building listed as a national landmark. And that is all from us today, For all of us here at Eyewitness News 14, I'm Dylan Hunter and we salute our veterans for their service and sacrifice today and always. Good night."


	4. Freshman Semi-Formal 1-3: Table of Tears

**Freshman Semi-Formal 1/3: Table of Tears**

Rhonda and the girls speculate on Arnold's hot date for the upcoming dance. (3 part story about how Arnold and Helga publicly became an item)

"Who on earth does that Shortman boy think he is anyway?"

Five minutes had passed since Rhonda Wellington Lloyd had furiously thrown down a lunch tray next to her squad of Sheena, Nadine and Lila. The three of them looked at each other, then at the stately banner they had designed a week ago for the upcoming Freshman Semi-Formal. After sharing a silent knowing nod, they began the task of putting together their friend's ego.

"I'm so sorry Rhonda," Nadine said offering the Lloyd girl a handkerchief. "But…it's not exactly like we can say we're shocked."

For a moment, Rhonda glared at her friend with a look that could melt titanium, then continued to sulk. It was true. No glower or snarl could change the fact that she (just like her friends before her) had joined the ranks of countless other girls that had been turned down by Arnold Philip Shortman. Since the latter half of middle school, the collective girlhoods of their age group trembled at the thought of him as possible boyfriend material. He was a genuinely charming young man with a bright future ahead of him, yet still bashful around women in a cute, Jimmy Stewart kind of way. He used this alluring homemade shampoo made with papaya, orange, lime and chamomile oils in his morning showers. Sports had also been kind to him physically. Naturally, once a date had been set for the Freshman Semi-Formal, the female portion of Hillwood High's student body across the board declared open season on the football-headed stud.

Yet one by one, each had found their affections politely dismissed.

"It makes no sense." Said Nadine. "Any one of the boys would break their necks to be in Arnold's position. Yet he keeps turning us down like tiles in a game of Guess Who."

"Maybe he's ever so smitten with a girl outside our class?" Lila proposed. "I mean it's not out of the realm of possibility that-"

"If you're talking about who I think you are, fat chance." Came a voice from behind them.

Ruth McDougal took a seat with the freshman girls. Rhonda and her friends exchanged glances as the auburn haired upperclassman set down her tray and made herself comfortable.

"And how would you be so sure of that?" Rhonda sneered. "Did he turn your heart into hamburger meat too?"

Ruth laughed.

"Are you kidding, I've already got _my_ date for the dance, unlike some girls in this school. No, I've heard my fair share of classmates and their friends crying their eyes out over some lothario lower classman named-"

"ARNOLD SHORTMAN, YOU CAN ROT IN HELL!" thundered a girl's voice from the lunch line followed by a squishing noise and yelp.

"Speak of the devil." Said Rhonda.

The five girls watched as Arnold made their way across the cafeteria with Gerald Johansen by his side followed by a very cross looking girl who huffed her way towards the exit. Apparently, yet another female student had attempted to ask him to the dance and got turned down; but this time, she hurled a bowl of chocolate pudding at him. The boy had finished changing out of his trademark green sweater (he still wore that flannel underneath) so as to not show off the stains done by the dessert, a few telltale globs of which still remained stuck on his hair. Despite this, the two of them deeply engrossed in conversation.

"…mm, mm, MM. Five more women on the lunch line alone! Arnold my man, you're really setting a record for broken hearts."

"And that's the worst part of it Gerald." Arnold replied with a shrug. "People want to think I'm this superbad lady's man or something, but nothing could be farther from the truth. Seeing them cry, try not to cry, or even get as mad as June back there…"

"Dude, you know there's only one surefire way to make this stop right?" Gerald continued. "All you just got to say is-"

"Oh-ho-ho no!" Said Arnold waving his hands back and forth. "Nuh-uh. No way man."

"Come on. You'd be saving these ladies a lot of trouble, not to mention yourself."

"They just wouldn't understand. I mean, you didn't for a while."

"Yeah, I'll admit it. But now, seeing how both of you are out of school…hell, even Phoebe and I see you as our relationship goals."

The two young men went about their stroll oblivious to the fact that their conversation had been well within ear shot of Rhonda's table. Everyone could almost see the gears in the gossipy girl's head going into overdrive. After what felt like an eternity of silence, a slow and sly grin formed on Rhonda's face as she nodded slowly (a look Nadine christened Rhonda's 'juicy gossip face'). Her eyes still staring at the Shortman boy now sitting with Gerald and Phoebe.

"The Freshman Semi-Formal is a week away and despite being a damn fine dancer and having every girl eating out of his hand, Arnold still doesn't have a date. In fact, he's always seemed to eschew the idea of any serious relationship with the opposite sex since middle school. Now, I hear that Gerald is privy to some secret relationship Arnold is in. One that he doesn't want blowing up the ol' grapevine. Is anyone else connecting the dots?"

The rest of the table looked quizzically amidst themselves before throwing in the towel.

"Our Arnold is gay." Rhonda replied all-knowingly. "And is most likely planning to bring his out of town boy-toy to the dance."

 _Now,_ the table finally began to buzz.

"How could Arnold be gay?" asked Ruth. "I seem to recall the kid once tried to ask me out on Valentine's Day. Besides, he's on almost every sports team this school can offer. And his voice is so…husky."

"In the closet." Rhonda said in a 'case closed' tone.

"And what should it matter?" Lila piped suddenly.

As if by gravitational force, Lila felt all eight eyes of her friends pulling towards her. Rhonda's especially flickered with shock and suspicion. Here they were in the midst of investigating a story practically bursting under the weight of its juiciness, and Lila wanted to put the kibosh on it? Where was this red-headed chippie coming of standing in between her and good gossip?

"I mean, this isn't some sitcom from 1996." Lila said catching herself. "This is real life, this is the new Americana. ' _Young James Dean, some say he looks just like his father, but he could never love somebody's daughter_.' Arnold can be manly as well as gay, and we're going to be as supportive and welcoming to whomever he brings to the dance."

The rest of the girls glumly agreed, even Rhonda (although she did so while making a mental note to still get to the bottom of this).

"Now where does that leave the rest of us?"

Rhonda directed her rhetorical question at the table across from her where Thaddeus "Curly" Gammelthorpe simultaneously wriggled his eyebrows and flashed a maniacal grin reminiscent of the Big Bob's Beepers billboard. He finished his courtship display by blowing a dramatic kiss in the Lloyd girl's direction. Joining him were Sid and Stinky egging Harold on to chug a gallon carton of Sunny D.


	5. Basic Literature Blues

**Basic Literature Blues**

A poem from the POV of Prof. Brian "Brainy" Simpson

The last stack of midterms sit on my desk, and the clock ticks half past four. But the ones I've graded are so far grotesque, I can't stand to read anymore. I know most of the students taking my courses will go onto select other majors, but it shouldn't be like beating dead horses dealing with these no-longer teenagers.

You'd think that the way my students lament about classes the college required there'd be some shed of effort in their work I am sent (gee, wouldn't that be inspired?) But why would you want to put the sweat into getting good grades in my class when you can send me the bare-bones, then fret when you find you're unable to pass?

Two Fs, a C-, the occasional B+, three Ds and five Cs in a row. Next week I know for a fact they will fuss, if they're smart to the tutors they'll go. Three minutes to six. The drive home is hushed as the drizzle gives way to rain. My patience is shattered, my soul is crushed and "WHY GOD" I cry out in pain.

But then,

My thoughts turn to a secret romantic, a bully named Helga Pataki And how hidden away in monologues frantic she'd curse how her senses went whacky. Her passion, her talent, and the time she'd endow on her hymns to the Shortman lad. Was worth every furrow of her uni-brow and enduring those beat downs so bad.

I guess you could say I found myself smitten as deeper and deeper I'd snoop But t'was more for her vocab and themes that she written (far advanced for our age group). With her tongue she built tributes of love everlasting, cooing " _Arnold"_ with loving inflection while I wheezed and I snorted and spent days barely masking a crippling sinus infection

I greet my wife at the door, give a hug to my daughters and rustle the hair of my son. After dinner I veg with a cold glass of water, my day is officially done. My students may vex me with work uninspired, and my youth feels farther from reach But as long as my thoughts turn to Helga, I recall why I wanted to teach.

 **AN: I legit have no idea what Brainy's real name is, I went with what I did because he looks like a rejected Bart Simpson doodle and "Brian" is the closest real name to Brainy. For those following, I'm hoping to get in a couple more one-shots before continuing my "Freshman Semi-Formal" story thread. In the meantime, please check out some of my other fics as well.**


	6. The Jury Room

**The Jury Room**

Amidst a heart-to-heart, the Pataki girls say goodbye to Big Bob's for good (fair warning to readers: this gets really intense.) 

"Bankruptcy or no bankruptcy, dad still left you the building Olga. And this McDermott guy that's looking to buy it off of us is willing to pay top dollar and everything. Considering that it's become a relative eyesore, I almost feel guilty at the price he's willing to pay for it."

"Bab-, I mean, Helga. I hated living in that store just as much as you did. But I…there's still that little part of me that…it's still his livelihood, our livelihoods. Daddy built the beeper company from scratch practically."

"Hello! Earth to Olga, We no longer have ANYTHING invested in that store. Nobody does, the city has had its eyes on razing it since they slapped the cuffs on-"

"Look Helga, can't we discuss this when I get back to Hillwood for the week? It's almost 10 at night by you and I got to start my morning. I'll have a final answer for you when I see you."

"Ok. You know where I'll be waiting to pick you up."

Olga hung up the phone and looked at the photo on her dresser from when Big Bob's Beepers first opened its doors. The beeper store had practically been their brother, a third sibling she and Helga shared. How many years did that photo look like the quintessential happy family to her? Bob eagerly inviting the world to his store? Miriam by his side supporting him and on the cusp of giving him the ultimate in legacies; a child to carry his name (or genetics)? To one without the knowledge of hindsight coupled with either daughters' lifetimes of emotional abuse, here was the photo of a man seeing all of his dreams finally coming true. But as Olga got older, something didn't feel right as she really looked at it. While Bob was positively on top of the world, as evidenced by an authentically satisfied and almost welcoming grin, a visibly pregnant Miriam stood by his side; waving demurely, and wearing her face in a plastic grimace. In time, so many little red flags would pop up in the family because of the store; Miriam's alcoholism, Helga's antisocial behavior, and _her_ personal neuroses with perfectionism. All things that couldn't go away with a state-of-the-art RV, or kingly dinners at the local steakhouse.

30,000 feet and four days had passed since that phone call from Helga about what remained of Bog Bob's Beepers, primarily the brick and mortar husk of the building it once called home. Olga ordered a ginger ale from the stewardess and looked down from the window as the place made its way to the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport.

 _**Olga POV: Six Months after the trip to San Lorenzo**_

 _I had just graduated Summa Cum Laude from Bennington College that winter with a double major in Elementary Education and Musical Arts with a minor in linguistics. I knew Daddy's business was struggling, but the full extent of the situation hit me like a ton of bricks when we drove past the house we once called home and instead to the floundering beeper store. Though I was now expected to pull and suffer along with mom and my sister, I tried to keep myself from letting the negativity I'd see day in and day out shatter my optimism and drive: after all, I was twenty-two, fresh out of college and already possessed an accomplished resume and with it some connections._

 _After an additional three months of submitting countless applications and letters of intercession to former professors, a note came from the Dean of Students of Wellington College in England all but snatching me up as his secretary. But since it was Daddy who got the mail, he intercepted my letter. From what Helga told me later, his face contorted in pure rage; twitching eye, steam-out-the-ears, the whole nine yards. I think the words she used were "you could cook an egg on him, he was so steamed". Then his face turned into this steely grin as he decided to himself that it would be burnt for fuel later that night. Had it not been for her…well, I don't want to think about it. What really got me was his remorselessness over the whole thing when confronted. No sheepish attempt to apologize, he just started in on Helga, then me. I knew what had to be done._

 _"No daddy; if my mind wasn't made up before, it most certainly is now! I'm going to England and you're not going to stop me!"_

 _"SO NOW YOU'RE TOO GOOD TO WORK IN A BEEPER EMPORIUM, IS THAT IT?! I PAID YOUR TUITION, SCRIMPED AND SAVED, EVEN HAD THE GIRL SELL MIRIAM'S BELNDER. ALL FOR THIS?!"_

 _"Yeah well maybe if you put as much effort into researching tech trends as you did treating me like some prized piece of livestock-"_

 _"DAMMIT LITTLE LADY YOU'RE A PATAKI. AND-"_

 _"And what Bob?" Olga responds coldly. "'And Pataki's are winners?' Does this look like winning to you? If it does, please enlighten me…"_

 _I stomp over to a small gathering of boxes over by a supply closet serving as the kitchen and starts pulling out assorted commendations of yore._

 _"…because this trophy can't change the fact we're homeless and in debt! This plaque can't help Mommy with the drinking problem ANYONE WITH THE BRAINS OF AN ICE CUBE can CLEARLY see she has! These medals can't replace all the friends I could have had if I wasn't glued to that piano, or shoved through every municipal spelling bee! And then there's Helga. No record amount of time of playing Chopin can restore the years of neglect and hell all three of us put her through. I failed her as a sister while the two of you failed her as parents."_

 _I made my way to the door. The motion sensor beeps as I stand looking out in the tranquil city evening. Mommy finally stumbles in from the stockroom covered in a vomit stained dress and carrying a half empty bottle of cheap whiskey. Her mouth opens and shuts like a fish out of water before expelling a fresh round of puke and falling over headfirst into a display case._

 _"MOTHER HUBBARD YOU USELESS…HEY! HEY! YOU CROSS THAT THRESHOLD AND YOU'RE DEAD TO ME"_

 _"Were any of us alive to you in the first place?"_

Before Olga knew it, the Pilot's voice broke over the intercom telling the passengers that they were beginning their descent into America. Just as the fifteen year old Pataki girl said, there she was waiting by the baggage claim area. Their greetings were amicable enough, and the two sisters even managed to hail a cab pretty quickly. As Hillwood's traffic began to congest, the two sisters made some attempt at small talk, but ultimately the conversation turned to selling the beeper store.

"…Look, all I'm saying is that you're way too invested in just giving the store up to this guy." Olga said. "For all I know this McDermott guy is looking for someplace to store the kids he traffics before wealthy perverts buy them."

""No!" said Helga with disgust. "He wants to open a pub called The Jury Room. I saw the mock-up menu he did and given how much I learned from mom and her 'smoothies' he and I joked over the idea of me as a bartender when I start college."

"And I bet you're wearing some vaguely sleazy police uniform dealing with drunks making the same 'cop-a-feel' joke night after night."

"He assured me it's tasteful; think Red Robin but with police stuff all over the wall."

"Look, if this is about how horrible your childhood was I'm sorry. I'm sorry daddy was a status obsessed ogre. I'm sorry mommy's drinking habits made Rasputin look like a boy scout. I'm sorry I too busy being the Pataki show pony to be the big sister you deserved. But selling the ashes of our old life isn't going to be like some magic scepter that changes things in one fell swoop."

Helga wordlessly rolled up her skirt and showed Olga the baseball sized mark on her upper thigh. The older Pataki girl recoiled in horror at the sight of her sister's bruise.

"When-?"

""Within seconds of you leaving." She said silently. "It's actually not as bad as it looks. It's even healed a lot in all that time."

 _**Helga POV: Six Months after the trip to San Lorenzo**_

 _I kinda knew that saving Olga's letter meant a shouting match and thusly a sleepless night, but if the volume the two of them going at it wasn't enough to wake the dead, I had the added bonus of feeling the floor shake as the two of them hurled barbs at each other. However it was _Miriam's retching and subsequent tumble that finally gets me out of my pathetic excuse for a bed.__

 _ _From the threshold of the employee break room I watch Olga step out into the evening and the doors shut shortly thereafter. I watch the fury swell in Bob's frame like magma building up in a volcano. _ _He's _always been a "sweep things under the rug" kind of guy. But between Olga's defiance and departure as well as the store sinking further into debt, that rug blew off along with his lid. He was always a temperamental guy in nature, but_ _this was a whole new ballgame. Every vein in his body (even his eyes) popped up as he turned around to face me. The torrent of fury he unleashed on me could have leveled half the state. And I was in his direct line of fire. _____

**_"YOU MOPEY LITTLE BRAT!"_** _He_ _Thundered while barreling toward me._ ** _"IT'S LIKE EVER SINCE THE DAY MIRIAM SQUEEZED YOU OUT, YOU'VE BEEN A GODDAMN LEECH AROUND HERE: EATING OUR FOOD, SLEEPING UNDER OUR ROOF, AND WHAT DO YOU BRING TO THE TABLE IN RETURN? ZIP, ZILCH AND F**K-ALL! YOU'RE AIMLESS. YOU CAN'T PLAY PIANO TO SAVE YOUR SKIN. YOU'RE NOT A STRAIGHT "A" STUDENT. AND YOU SURE AS HELL CAN'T SELL A BEEPER. ALL YOU SEEM TO BE GOOD FOR IS SARCASM AND SITTING IN YOUR ROOM WITH THAT STUPID LITTLE JOURNAL OF YOURS!"_**

 _" **"BUT THAT'S NOT ENOUGH FOR YOU, IS IT?! NOOO! NOT ONLY DID YOU TURN MIRIAM INTO A WALKING BAR RAG BY BEING A CONSTANT DISAPPOINTMENT TO US, YOU ALSO WENT BEHIND MY BACK AND MAKE US LOSE THE ONE DAUGHTER WHO ACTUALLY PUT IN THE EFFORT TO DO SOMETHING WITH HERSELF!"**_

 _Then Bob did the one thing all men do that tells the world 'I can't hack any challenge anymore. I'm too much of an emotionally stunted ape to handle my emotions as a man.'_

 _He laid hands on me._

 _He threw me into one of the walls._

 _It all happened so fast that it didn't seem to register. It was like one second I was standing upright listening to him try to hurl as many insults at me that he possibly could; and the next I was face to face with Miriam breathing in the potent odor of puked-up alcohol. My upper thigh in a tremendously excruciating level of pain. I try to get up but Bob kicks me back down, face-first into the puddle of vomit._

 ** _"NO! YOU STAY! YOU STAY AND YOU LISTEN THIS TIME! I DON'T KNOW WHAT THAT THE BLUE BLAZES THAT WEIRD LITTLE ORPHAN BOY SEES IN YOU! AS FAR AS I'M CONCERNED YOU'RE A WALKING ABORTION AND THAT'S ALL YOU'LL EVER AMOUNT TO! WE HAD THE PERFECT DAUGHTER, THEN YOU CAME ALONG!"_**

 _I blacked out after that. His stinging insults were the last thing I remember before the police showed up. As much as the Hillwood's finest tried to discreetly remove me from the store, the crowd of bystanders only continued to swell. Cameras flashed and correspondents chatted away live from the scene. I could only walk into the nearby police cruiser half-awake, numb to the uproar surrounding me. The police didn't give me the full story until the next morning; and even then I could only snort derisively, as if this was the only way the story of Big Bob the Beeper King and his wife could end._

 _Bob ultimately got tired of treating me like crap, so in a fit of rage he grabbed up all the boxes with Olga's rewards. Within minutes, they rained from the overpass one by one and the sound of obscenities filled the otherwise silent evening. But it was one accolade that bought the whole hill of beans crashing down; a token of appreciation from some orphanage where she performed Bach's Brandenburg Concertos smashed through the windshield of a passing car containing a young family with twins. The award struck the driver's head causing the vehicle to spin into the opposite lane and t-bone an oncoming petrol tanker truck. There were no survivors. In arresting Bob, the police found the family squatting in the store, me in the fetal position next to Miriam in an alcohol induced coma. Dr. Bliss became my legal guardian as Miriam's health took turns for the worst and she was sent to live in a sober living home. Bob went on to cut a deal with the family that obliterated what little was left of our paltry savings and plead guilty in exchange for 30 years community service and time in an anger management program._

 _That was almost four years ago. And now all that remained of Big Bob's was the building that housed it, and even then the only thing sparing it from demolition was what he wrote in the will._

"I…I had no idea…" Olga began.

"I didn't expect you to." Helga said readjusting herself. "You were working so hard to be chipper about things and…well as much as I hated it, your attitude was just how you coped with being everyone's meal ticket. I never really appreciated the mental gymnastics behind your smile, your disposition…then to see dad holding your letter from Wellington, and how willing he was to tear down everything he built up in you because this was one door opening for you that he couldn't cash in on…I couldn't do it. I had to get you that letter. What was the worst he could do to me at this point? You had to get away."

Before Olga could even formulate a response, the cab stopped at the law firm of Vail and Felter. As the two women entered the lobby, they found themselves warmly greeted by a tall auburn-haired man who introduced himself as Liam McDermott, a former police officer from New Jersey looking to make a new start in the restaurant/pub business after being disillusioned by life on the force. Liam explained that he had heard about the building from a distant cousin who lived in the area and on a couple of occasions had worked with Mr. Pataki. For the remainder of the day the two sisters and the former cop worked out the terms of their deal. He made a generous offer of 130k, with each sister getting half, and remembering how smitten he was with Helga's surprising knowledge of alcohol, once again made a serious offer of potential employment once she came of age.

"You know," Liam said once the payment had been torn out from his checkbook. "I know this place has been a large part of your lives, so if you want to say any last goodbyes, I'd be willing to drive you over."

Olga looked intensely at each other for what felt like an eternity. The revelation of Helga's abuse shattered any remaining façade of respect towards Bob as not only a father but as a person. Her bruised thigh was the price of admission so to speak for the older Pataki girl to fledge from the nest, start a new life and never look back.

"We're good." She said.

The next morning, a clean-up crew began the arduous task of restoring the building to some level of attraction. The lot was cleaned of debris, the tile and shelves hauled from out the front door, and the broken glass where windows once stood swept up and disposed of. As the men went about their work, the two Pataki sisters watched from the corner of the block; silent in their vigil save for a loud applause as what remained of the Beeper King's steely grin was scraped from the billboard and unceremoniously tossed in the dumpster.


	7. Freshman Semi-Formal 2-3: Purple Heart

**Freshman Semi-Formal 2/3: Purple Heart**

 **How does Helga deal with a nasty joke at her expense? (3 Part story about how Arnold and Helga publically became an item)**

 **AN: Some language. Be advised.**

Helga Pataki leaned back in his seat in the principal's office out of boredom. It had been a solid fifteen minutes since First Bell had rung, but Principal Fetner was nowhere to be found. After looking around the room he cupped his hands and mimicked his pompous voice as it sounded on the intercom.

"Alright Fetner, this is fun and all but get your ass here."

Almost as if the door heard him, it swung open and Principal Fetner stepped into the room. Upon reaching his desk, he threw down a manila folder and promptly sat down. All the while staring the girl down.

"Well, well, Pataki. I assume you know why you're all here right?"

"Actually no." She replied with feigned innocence. "I'm hoping you found that math homework my dog ate."

"Well maybe this will clear it up." He responded pulling out a conduct report. "At 8:35 in the school parking lot, Helga Pataki got into a heated argument with Sid Gifaldi, wherein she threatened and proceeded to lay hands on him and embarked on an attempt to stuff the student head first into a nearby trash can…"

Helga just stared at the principal; calmly pulling out a piece of paper from her pocket and unceremoniously flicked it onto his desk. Drawn on the parchment was the illustration of a Purple Heart medal with a very crude portrait of Helga shaking her fist instead of the traditional obverse profile of George Washington. Underneath the drawing in red letters was the following caption clearly written in Sid's handwriting: 'war is the time when heroes are born.'

"Does your little paper take THAT into account, or was it just… conveniently erased from the equation?" Helga sneered, jadedly waving her hand around for emphasis.

Silence.

"You know," Helga continued adopting a sarcastic baby voice. "Sid is buwying me. And that huwts my sewf-esteem. Maybe baff time with Mr. Toaster would sowlve my pwobwem."

"Miss Pataki."

"Oh, that gets your attention you sack of-"

"Surely we are going to hold Sid accountable for his conduct this afternoon as well…" Principal Fetner responded.

"Then do so!" Helga said as she begun to brew with righteous fury.

"…In the meantime, suicide is a very hot topic these days; and your little joke was insulting and distasteful to say the least. So I'd highly appreciate it if you'd tone down the melodramatics."

Helga shot up off her chair and threw it across the room, its blow leaving damage in the drywall.

"Melodramatics?!" She snapped. "Sid has been acting like a little snot since seventh grade, ESPECIALLY to women, and the worst anyone has given him is a slap on the wrist. If I had a nickel for every chauvinistic joke or sleazy pick up line that oozed out of his barely-evolved mouth, I could buy Dinoland six times over. Then there's _me_ on the other hand, who might as well have my desk hauled in here and call this my classroom for so much as looking the wrong way. And you, the pompous clown that you are, got the unmitigated NERVE to sit at your desk like King of the Dungheap having everyone buy into this notion of you as some big-shot anti-bullying crusader!"

"So yeah, two weeks suspension and a restraining order for the night of the dance."

Silence came from the fitting room as Helga waited for a response from her friend. As soon as school let out, Phoebe met up with her friend (who spent the day playing mallrat) at Lacey's Department Store for dress shopping. While Helga made it very clear that she would have rather swan-dove into a wood chipper than attend the dance, she knew Phoebe felt some investment in attending and offered to accompany her in purchasing a dress. As it was, she and Gerald were practically a shoe-in for king and queen of the dance and very few people can say such an honor was practically gift-wrapped for them.

"You croak in there Pheebs?" said Helga rapping on the door.

"No, sorry. Gerald just sent me a text saying all of Sid's drawings are destroyed." Phoebe said. "I was listening. You're suspended until the Monday after the dance. Oop! Another text from Ger…OH, WHAT THE HELL?"

"What?"

"Apparently, Sid's only sanction is being banned from the Freshman Semi-Formal."

Helga croaked out a torrent of expletives at the news. It wasn't enough that he managed to weasel his way out of school by pulling the traumatization card, he would receive yet another half-hearted punishment for his refusal to grow up. As this occurred, Phoebe took one last look in the mirror before calling out:

"Ok Helga, here I come."

"Oh." Helga said coming back to reality. "Alright Pheebs, let's see what ya got."

She sashayed out the doors of the dressing room wearing a silky purple sleeveless kimono adorned with tiger colored dragons. Her face curled into a coy and inviting smile, clearly owning how her body rocked that frock. Helga pretended to cat-call her, an act which elicited a giggle from her bespectacled friend.

"So I take it Gerald would have trouble keeping his hands off me if I strolled down the steps like that?"

"Phoebe, I'm a sighted heterosexual girl dating the only boy I ever loved, and even _I'm_ having trouble keeping my hands off you right now." Helga replied. "Tall hair boy would be putty in three seconds flat."

Phoebe blushed.

"Well, I don't know about you but after a day of dealing with cavemen and questioning my sexuality for a minute, I'm starved. Wanna hit the food court Phoebe?"

"Hitting."

In the end, the two girls decided to go halvsies on the all-you-can-eat salad bar of a casual dining restaurant near the mall. The price was reasonable, everywhere else had lines that weren't worth the wait, and the place had a good deal of one free dessert if you spend $30 or more. As they munched on their third plate of greens, Phoebe caught Helga up with the latest buzz around school.

Suddenly, a slamming noise from the booth behind them bought their conversation to a grinding halt. Phoebe and Helga craned their necks and saw Maria Castillo patting Connie Hayden's shoulder as the later of the two girls furiously consumed the cheesecake that sat betwixt them.

"He's an insect …*chews and swallows*… an emotional amoeba…*chews and swallows*… Doesn't have the **balls** to dump me like a man…*takes healthy swig of her drink*… _nooooo_. Mr. Class decides to cheat on me with some freshman skank."

" _Cariño_. Shoveling down cheesecake like this won't change the situation."

"Ywah ewll, ik chelps!" The blonde girl snapped in between mouths full of her dessert. "…*aah*…I should have known since we started dating in sixth grade was a toolbox Burt was. And for Tommy to take his side in this…just…Oh Maria, why are we doomed to that which is called 'men'? Couldn't we just be lesbians and call it a day?

Maria let out a subtle blush at the thought of her friend's last comment. In the depths of her chest, the beating of her heart began to intensify at the thought that her lifelong friend, Connie Hayden, may in fact share a similar burgeoning feeling of attraction. The Latina felt that hiding what she felt wasn't worth it anymore, but as the walls of her lips began to slowly open an oily voice cut her short.

"So, boyfriend problems?"

A booth over, Helga could feel her rage foment at the sight of Sid leaning over at Connie and Maria's booth. It wasn't just because he wore enough _Cologne eau de Oof_ to nuke the ozone layer, nor was it the thirsty leer and combo wink/tongue click he gave the two girls. No, what really ground her gears was the thought of his performance for Principal Fetner earlier that morning where he acted too traumatized to function. Anyone with even 1/8th of a brain cell knew he was faking it, but naturally, the principal fell for it and sent him home. Now here he stood acting like some Mac Daddy as if today was like any other.

"Hey Connie, look who thinks he's some _Papi Chulo_." Maria sneered icily enough to freeze the sun.

"Who says I gotta think?" Sid replied. "Any-hoo, I was wondering where this blonde little _thang_ has been all my life and whether or not she'd like to accompany me to the Freshman Semi-Formal."

Helga felt her insides curdle as Sid waited for Connie's response. The drumming of his fingers upon the upholstered booth seemed to dance upon her stomach. But before she could coat the restaurant with a fine layer of puke, Connie finally dignified the creep with a response.

"I would rather gargle a bucket of boiling hot bleach than relive my Freshman Semi-Formal. I went with my now _EX_ -boyfriend who, despite spending half the night trying to feel me up, grinding himself near my womanhood, and generally exhibiting all the class of a horny orangutan, is still SOMEHOW is a better paragon of refinement than you could ever be. In short, no."

"Ooh. That's gotta hurt. Even for him." Phoebe whispered to Helga.

"Fine." Sid replied with a dejected sneer. "All I know is that I could have treated you better tha-"

Before Sid could finish his sentence Maria grabbed Connie close to her and passionately kissed her on the mouth. The shock that engulfed them turned to mutual pleasure as the rims of their lips caressed one another. After what felt like an eternity, the two girls broke contact; the blonde girl stared at her now sheepish best friend.

"Maria, what-"

" _Lo siento_." She replied as tears began to well. "I can't hide it anymore, you've always been so pretty and fun to be around…and…"

"Shh. Maria." Connie soothingly replied as she replied placing her finger on the other girl's lips. Her smile reassured the girl that the actions were more than just forgiven, but welcome.

"So you're-"

"Yes."

"And you-"

"Always."

As Connie started to reciprocate Maria's amorous gesture, the Latina girl jerked her head toward a now floored Sid who stared transfixed with rebuffed voyeurism.

"Why are you still here?!" Connie hissed. "If that's not enough of a sign that I'm not interested in you, than you're as dense as they get."

Helga and Phoebe watched as Sid grumbled a homophobic comment before leaving the two girls alone. As he passed their booth, Helga shot him a look as if to warn him not to even bother trying his routine on her.

"Eat my dick Pataki." He responded.

"Not in this or any lifetime Bamm Bamm." She said. "After what you pulled this morning with your little drawing, you're lucky to still be alive."

"You know, I'd have thought someone in your positon would have been a little more grateful Helga." Sid replied. "I mean, how else would you have gotten a date for the dance? Being asked? I'm doing you a favor and my thanks is a one way trip to the dumpster."

"Sidney, here's a lesson in being a wingman." Phoebe said condescendingly. "One, consider whether or not the girl in question actually gives a rat's rip about the dance. Two, don't compare a night out with her to jumping a grenade."

"Speaking of the dance, even if some girl miraculously took you up on your offer, how the hell would you have gotten through the door?" Helga interjected. "I just found out from Tall Hair Boy that you're _persona non grata_ as per Fetner's orders."

"oH nO. nOT fETneR's OrdERs." Sid dramatically replied. "Please, he'll have his hands full trying to keep everyone from getting pregnant to notice me come in, depending on how we play our cards. What's the worst he can do?"

Helga cocked her head quizzically at the boy whose countenance flushed.

"Let me guess, you Harold and Stinky concocted some harebrained scheme to sneak you in through the backdoor haven't you?"

Before Sid could even stammer and figure out a way to dismiss what he said as a slip of the tongue, a peeved waiter tapped his shoulder and cleared his throat.

"Will you be taking a seat young man, or just waste time?"

Sid scoffed at the waiter, but nonetheless slithered guiltily of the restaurant. He shot one final venomous pout at Helga and Phoebe, as if to tell them "you girls didn't hear nothin'." Once they were sure she was gone,

Helga smiled smugly as she pulled her phone out and began to text.

"Little fuckboi wants to see what a hero looks like in wartime?" she muttered.

"Uh on, what are you doing Helga?"

"Remember how Sid and I had to do a report on _Lysistrata_ and he goofed off while I wound up doing all the work?"

"Oh yeah, you were beyond pissed."

"Well, let's just say I found it very educating." Helga replied with a smile. "Hello, Lila?"


	8. Another Long Monday (What Have I Done?)

**Another Long Monday (What Have I Done?)**

 _When we were children, we thought and reasoned as children do. But when we grew up, we quit our childish ways._

"Son of a-"

It was only expected that Gerald's phone go off right about when he had finally got comfy on the couch with Phoebe. He grumbled quizzically over the unrecognizable phone number about telemarketers before receiving the call.

"Look buddy you got the…Oh Timberly. Ok, ok take a deep breath and…oohf. I remember…and you lost your phone in the…mhm…ok, the Root Beer Palace you said? Give me five minutes and I'll get you."

Gerald shot a fuming look at nobody in particular as he grabbed his keys and wallet before heading out the door. Before Phoebe could respond, she found her questions were answered amidst her boyfriend furiously mumbling to himself before the door slammed.

"How could I have forgotten? Trash can day!"

" _No_." She thought checking her phone. " _It can't be_."

Sure enough, her eyes widened in shock and her stomach plunged as the full significance of the day came back to her; today was the first Monday in June; Trash-can day. A tradition where 5th graders all over the city put 4th graders into trash cans. It always occurs on the first Monday in June because the trash is picked up the next day, so there are plenty of cans outside. There was no rhyme or reason, it just happened every year. Making matters worse was that Timberly was now a fourth grader, and as such subject to this repulsive ritual alongside her friends.

**Timberly's POV**

 _The second hand of the PS 118 clock grazed the minute hand and the 3pm dismissal bell let out it's all too familiar ring. I and the rest of the fourth grade class felt a collective plunge in our stomachs knowing what was in store once we headed out the hallway and into the city. I meet with the class by the lockers to go over our plans one last time. Naturally, we're all frightened._

" _Trashcan day." Said Ari. "And I just got my hair done for my Aunt's birthday tonight."_

" _You think you got it bad. I'm allergic to mold." Said Anthony. "Who knows what long forgotten food is permanently fused to the bottom of the can…ick."_

" _Guys! Guys!" I shouted. "We just got to stick together this year-"_

" _Everyone says that." Shouted Barbara. "And every year it's the same thing. The fifth graders dunk us in the trash regardless. What makes_ _your_ _plan different?_

" _Yes, but we stick together in_ _pockets_ _, not as a solid_ _unit_ _. You got to figure, between us, PS 117 and PS 119, that's…that's…well that's a whole lot of fourth graders to toss around. Now our liaisons Freddy and Bonnie from the other two schools will be meeting us by Mighty Pete, not too far from any of the schools. So if we can stick together as a class from that point on, we should be fine."_

" _What if we reach our home before we get to Mighty Pete?" Asked Becca._

" _Then I text Freddy and Bonnie that we got you home safely." Timberly responded. "Now, let's lock elbows and make a legend."_

 _Little did I know that the chaos would begin before our plan would take any serious roots. A swarm of seven fifth graders ambushed us from all sides just as the last of our class just as the last of our classmates made it down the stairs. We were forty two in all but once the dust cleared and we scattered, half of us had already become casualties._

" _EVERY FOURTH GRADER FOR THEMSELVES!"_

 _As soon as I managed to find refuge, I texted Bonnie and Freddy that the plan had fallen apart. I gave a casualty count of who I could remember before I heard a gaggle of fifth graders coming around the corner. They too scrapped the plan on account of a similar blitz from their school's fifth graders that severely decimated their numbers. From three blocks away, I saw the Root Beer Palace on the horizon. It had become the official 'safe zone' since Mrs. Vitello died and her shop was razed thereafter, thus destroying the alleyway behind it from my brother's Trashcan Day. If I could lay low there under a table and text Gerald, he could at least get me home safely._

" _COME BACK HERE YOU PUNY FOURTH GRADER!"_

 _I'm far from home and fatigued, but once I ran, the only keeping me going was habit. The distance between me and the soda-shaped building seems to disappear. My body aches and pops with each step I take but I feel gravity releasing my legs from the ground. Before I know it, I look up; half a block stands between me and the Root Beet Palace. I soar, seeing myself running through that open door…_

… _And it all comes to a crashing halt._

 _Looming over me is Johann, the head fifth-grade thug. The best way to describe him is a walking wall of meat. He flexes triumphantly, impervious to the fact that I had just crashed into him. But through it all, a victorious and hungry grin is permanently cemented on his face._

" _Well, well, well boys." He thunders. "She put up quite a fight today. Didn't she?"_

 _As he picks me up off the ground, Johann's goon squad grunted in agreement._

" _Resolve such as this should be rewarded don't you think?"_

 _Another guttural chorus of jeers comes from the gaggle of preadolescents as they hoist me in the air like some war trophy and begin a procession towards the dumpster behind the carwash. My phone falls out of the pocket of my pants. With an evil gleam in his eye and a series of sickening crunches, he stomps repeatedly on it until all that remains is a mangled wad of chips and plastic._

" _You can catch a nice shower on us when you're done learning your place in life." Sneered Johann. "Any final words?"_

" _HOW DOES 'RELEASE HER' SOUND?"_

Timberly looks up at the easy-faced young man next to her and hands him back his phone back.

"My brother said he'll be on his way. Thanks for everything."

"No problem." The man responded. "Would you like me to wait here until he picks you up? You know, just in case."

"Yeah, I'd like that." Said Timberly dismissively. "You know, in all this, I never got your name."

"Morgan Walker." The man said extending his hand. "Seminarian."

"Oh, I'm Timberly," the girl replied. "Fourth Grader."

"Pleased to meet you Miss Timberly." He responds with a sad smile. "I see the old traditions don't exactly die out around here, do they?"

"No, not exac…" she began. "Wait, you lived in Hillwood?"

"Years ago." He replied. "I came by as part of a youth outreach group with the seminary and, well, at the advice of my spiritual father who advised me to seek contrition. I'll tell you about it over a float deal?"

"Deal!" Timberly replied with a beam.

**Morgan's POV**

" _This stop, 34_ _th_ _and Vine Streets."_

 _I step off the bus alongside a small crowd. With a shrug and a sigh, I look at the city thinking to myself about how much had changed since I was a kid. Hillwood had been my home up to the beginning of middle school and very few of those memories were happy. But a small and knowing grin appears upon my face whilst looking at the distinguishingly shaped soda shop. It was the one place in all of the city that I had peace._

" _Excuse me." I called to the young lady in the float-shaped kitchenette. "I'd like to place my order."_

" _Oh." Said the young lady behind the counter. "Welcome to Root Beer Palace. I'm Sheena, what can I get you today?"_

" _A classic float would be nice."_

" _Coming up."_

" _You'd think with the weather, it'd be a bit more…" I stammered in an attempt to make small talk._

" _Busy." Sheena responded as she took his money and prepared his float. "Yeah, more people are looking to stay hydrated, and I don't blame them. Ice cream is nice and all, but water wins out. Anyway, enjoy."_

 _I take a seat in one of the plastic picnic tables and took a hearty, almost nostalgic gulp of my drink. For what feels like an eternity, I'm amazed that as much as the town changed in my absence, the floats never lost their taste and eerie power to help me lay there, forget the world and all the ugliness that came with it. I close my eyes and swished the drink around my mouth before slowly swallowing it; savoring each drop of flavor._

 _Suddenly a hooting and hollering troop of preadolescents cause my train of thought to derail. Hoisted over the shoulders of the largest among them was a little girl struggling to free herself as the group makes their way behind the carwash. Every organ in my body freezes as it hits me, June 5_ _th_ _was the first Monday of the month._

" _You can catch a nice shower on us when you're done learning your place in life." Sneers the lumbering heap of a boy. "Any final words?"_

" _HOW DOES 'RELEASE HER' SOUND?" I bellow with all my might._

 _The entire alleyway goes silent. All heads turn in my general direction._

" _What did you say?" The heap-man's lackey asks ominously._

" _Release. Her." I reply slowly._

 _The two boys share a nod and toss the girl headfirst into the dumpster. They share a triumphant guffaw and sports-guy chest-bump before making their way back. The heap-man turns to me and after flicking my drink out of my hands, smugly replies:_

" _I'd chose my words carefully next time."_

 _Normally, I would have called the cops and washed my hands of the whole deal, but something just boiled inside me. In the blink of an eye, I grab the brute by his shoulders and slam him against the wall. Half his friends scatter down the block while a small handful stay back._

" _WHO THE HELL DO YOU THIN-"_

" _You need to change boy. Want to know why? Because I've been there." I whisper. "If over a decade in Juvenile Hall taught me ANYTHING it's that no matter how hard you think you are, you're not. There's always someone bigger. There's always someone badder. And you can bet your ass they're not afraid to show it. So, what's it going to be?"_

Gerald's car pulls into the Root Beer Palace's lot. It doesn't take him long to find his sister. He bounds out of the car upon seeing Morgan hand her a root beer float.

"Hey, bozo." Gerald booms. "Back off my sister."

"Gerald!"

"Listen, my sister's had a bad enough day without you creeping up on her. So back the-"

"I take it you're the young man she-"

"That's right and I'll bust your head in if you so much as-"

"GERALD THIS IS THE MAN WHO LET ME BORROW HIS PHONE HE'S SUPER NICE AND BOUGHT ME A FLOAT BECAUSE OF MY BAD DAY" Timberly shouted almost in one breath.

"Oh." Gerald said after a pause. "You sure?"

"Redial your phone." She ordered.

Sure enough, seconds after Gerald fiddled with his device, a faint dweebling noise came from Morgan's back pocket. Both the Johanssen children looked at him and then at each other.

"Woah, I am so sorry, I thought you were some-"

"It's quite alright." Morgan replied with a relieved chuckle. "If I had a younger sibling, I'd do all I can to protect her as well."

"Didn't you say you we're going to tell a story?" The young girl interrupted. "About you growing up in Hillwood"

Gerald's ears perked at the 's' word. At Timberly's age, he prided himself on being Keeper of the Legends, and the kids looked towards him in fulfilling that role. While such things didn't matter as much in high school as they did in the good old days at PS 118, it'd be a cold day in hell before he'd ever turned down a chance to hear a new legend.

"Oh right." He said. "Yes, sit down."

With baited breath, both kids turned their attention to the young man.

"Every fourth grader asks themselves at some point how this whole day began." Morgan said with sorrow in his voice. "Why on this one day of the year they spend the afternoon quaking in fear over such a childish yet scarring tradition. Well…you're looking right at the reason."

Silence.

"I'm sure you know the legend 'no one knows exactly how or when it all began…' and there is some truth to that because there was no single event made Trashcan Day. It was just me and a bad crowd of kids who felt powerless to life and all its capriciousness; parents' fraying marriages, family businesses failing, funny uncles, older siblings lording it over us, and that just scratches the surface. As for yours truly, my family was the textbook definition of what you'd say 'making ends meet'. Money got tighter and tighter, and both parents engaged in their respective habits of self-destruction."

"Then one day we just snapped, saw red, whatever you want to call it." Morgan continued. "The frustration of life, the heat, the garbage, it served as the perfect storm. All of us wanted to feel big, and the easiest way to feel big is by picking on those below us, and who better than the fourth graders? When that bell rang, the poor kids didn't know what hit 'em. Initially my group stayed on as retribution consultants, but one by one we found ourselves sent off to different juvenile halls. I can't speak for anyone else but, like I told the kids: you learn quickly you're not as hardcore as you think."

"I did my time and soul searching and asked myself what I was getting out of my life. The answer was nothing. Lillith's dad wasn't going to start being a father to her because some kid got tossed in a dumpster, all the swirlies in the world weren't going to help Donny's mom sober up, stuffing kids in lockers wasn't going to put food on the table or money in the bank. After that I got a scholarship and never looked back on this town, until today."

The Johannsen siblings processed Morgan's story, each for different reasons. Gerald felt satisfied and blown away that a longstanding legend had been solved, while Timberly looked at her knight-in-shining-armor in a new light. She gently patted his hand as if to say 'you've got a long way to go to make things right, but you're on the right path thus far.' After thanking Morgan one last time, the two headed back to the car and began their drive home.

"Criminy, who the -"

It was only expected that Arnold's phone go off right about when he had finally got comfy on the couch with Helga. He grumbled as Gerald's number popped up on the screen.

"What does Hairboy want with us?"

"Gerald, you kinda caught us at a bad time-"

"Yeah I know Arnold, but, remember Trash can day? Well you're not gonna believe this…"


	9. Nostalgia Act I: Summer

**Nostalgia Act I: Summer**

Summer Love deals with life after a certain sand castle contest (Another multi-part work)

"Summer. Phone for you."

The waitress' demeanor shifts immediately; her 'fun and flirty' persona that the job prides itself on is dropped like molten lead as she makes her way back to the kitchen. Those four words have become something of a code at this point between the two of them, and not a shift went by where the boss had to say them. She steels a quick glance at the clock by the soda fountain (12:15pm) and with the phoniest grin she could muster, takes the phone from the manager and responds. He shuffles quickly to attend to the customers she has dropped.

"Babewatch Café, Summer speaking."

"Ah, yes, Miss Colfax this is Principal-"

"For the hundredth time, I prefer 'Love.' If you don't mind" She snapped. "Colfax is the name of the no-account sperm donor I work with."

Her eyes glower at the cowed and thin-haired man dumping a dozen mozzarella sticks into the deep fryer. He shakes his head, clearly within earshot of the emasculating jab his on-again-off-again girlfriend hurls about him. Though knowing very well that making any attempt at engaging her means his dismissal from the restaurant, Sandy knows damn well that once the clock is punched out he'll be filled in about the nature of this phone call.

"Ok…" The principal stammered awkwardly on the other end. "Miss Love, it's about Kamala."

"I'll be there in ten minutes." She responds curtly with a frustrated sigh.

After convincing Autumn to cover for her shift, Summer furiously peeled out of the parking lot and on her way to her daughter's school. She catches a brief look at herself in the rear view mirror. Life had gone downhill at breakneck speed for her since she and Sandy Colfax (her manager and on-again-off-again boyfriend) lost a certain sandcastle building contest almost fifteen years ago. It was supposed to be her big break, her ticket out of Spencer Beach. But instead it went to a couple of 10 year old tourists, one of whom she had hoped to utilize in this task. To add insult to injury, the writers were so taken by their onscreen chemistry and the girl's brashness that not only did they write a special episode to showcase what they had, but it became an instant fan favorite.

Two years later, the show's final episode aired but Summer kept trying to grasp that spotlight. In the end, a drunken booty-call to Sandy lead to the audition of a lifetime: motherhood co-starring Kamala Ellison Love.

The next best thing Summer could shoot for was a Babewatch themed bar and grille where in spite of having already pushed thirty, she still could turn enough heads to work there as a waitress/bartender. The owner Nicholas was Sandy's older cousin and took him on as assistant fry-cook. Five years later, he hired Summer to mixed results. While her good looks and customer service skills made her a favorite among the patrons, the obvious tension between her and Sandy made working in the kitchen akin to defusing a nuclear warhead for the rest of the staff. Furthermore, Kamala's behavior became worse and worse as she got older. This meant frequent impromptu visits to the principal's office and an inconsistent time card.

Two speeding police cruisers broke Summer out of her train of thought as it blew past her and swerved into the parking lot of Dune Ave Junior High. She froze as the cars parked and two officers brusquely walked towards the school's front entrance.

 _Oh Christ, what the Hell have you done now?_


	10. And Then he ran into my Knife!

**And then he Ran into my Knife!**

He was not the greatest neighbor, but nobody would actually kill him…Right?

Oscar Kokashka was dead.

Ernie Potts was the poor sucker to find the guy face down and crumpled at the foot of the steps. He roused himself early in hopes of getting a good shower in before starting his day at the demolition company. With a mutter of 'Kokashka you bum' Potts made his way down the steps to move him.

As Ernie began to pick the man up, he felt something leaking on his clothes. Setting his neighbor down, he flips on the hallway light and gasps. Whoever wanted to kill Oscar was dead set about seeing him suffer; he had been clearly beat up by something blunt, whatever blood that didn't seep into his white undershirt and matted in his thinning and copper colored hair and beard had pooled onto the floor, an electrical cord had been tightly wrapped around his throat (rendering his face blue from strangulation), and he had been stabbed upwards of about ten times.

"GRAMPS!"

A squad car pulls up to 4040 Vine Street just as Oscar's body was in the process of being wheeled out from the front door and into the coroner's truck. From the pursing of her lips to the frustrated sigh he let out before bracing up the stairs, Detectives Ophelia Bennet and Emmanuel Stepford clearly had their work cut out for them in solving this case. After four hours of interviewing the boarding house residents, all the detectives succeeding in is confirming what they already knew from the case file:

"The guy was a Class-A bum!" Ernie said. "Lazy, scheming, and wouldn't know work if it tied his shoelaces together."

"I see so many scary men." Khiem said. "They have dark shades and sharp suits asking me where Oscar was. They say, he owed money. Even some kid Gino sent goons to the door. Sooo scary."

"That shiftless weasel mooched off anything with a pulse since he got here." Grandpa Phil said. "And don't even get me started on the rows he'd have with Suzie. The way the two of them just went at it, got so routine that there came a point where shut eye was no longer lost as the two bickered into the night."

"Oscar got the best of everyone at one point or another." Arnold told the detectives. "I remember getting him a job delivering paper, and he made all these excuses; national holiday, illness, etc. *heh* I even had a dream once that he actually did do his job."

But for all their frustrations with the guy, nothing in Oscar's neighbors stuck out enough to made them suspect. Stepford sighed as Arnold wrapped up his testimony. Bennet looked down at the names of the boarders and noticed that she still had one last name to go; Suzie Kokoshka, the widow. The last anyone saw of her, she was racing around claiming she had to get to work because 'someone still had to pay for the funeral.'

All of a sudden, from their apartment: " _Suzie! Make me a Sandwich_."

" _Oscar, dinner was two hours ago_ -"

" _That cranky old man and his loony wife wouldn't let me have seconds. Now where is my sandwich?"_

" _We don't have anything to make one_."

The duo make their way up the stairs into the Kokoshka apartment. Bennet opens the door to find Suzie reclining in her deceased husband's Lazy-boy wearing a simple black dress and the evil smile of a woman scorned that finally got revenge. On the little table next to her sits the iron, an extension cord and a large kitchen knife, all covered in scuff marks and blood.

"SVU. This is Stepford requesting backup at 4040 Vine Street. Over."

Suzie slowly raises her hand, as if to ask the officer not to arrest her yet and takes a large satisfied sip from the glass of wine she holds in her other hand. A tape recorder sits at her feet playing what was to become the final moments of her husband's life.

" _Why not_?"

" _Because someone went to the racetrack and blew through this week's money_."

" _Yeah, well not my fault. That_ _čurák_ _bookie told me the horse was named 'Easy Street'. Anyway, what about money I left-"_

" _Rent. Which was still not enough to get us out of the hole with the Shortmans."_

" _Who is that ungrateful miser to sneer at $250?"_

" _An 'ungrateful miser' that should have thrown us into the street LAST YEAR YOU INDOLENT CLOWN!"_

" _WHY DO YOU KEEP MAKING SCENE AND WAKE NEIGHBORS LIKE THIS WHEN YOU KNOW I'LL GET TO IT TOMORROW?!"_

 _-Silence.-_

" _Oh, a scene Oscar?"_

 _-A scuffle breaks out as she grabs something from the closet. Blows land and Oscar whimpers for mercy.-_

" _I've waited for tomorrow ten years too long you good for nothing ass. But it never seemed to come, and all I did little by little was die inside. You know what that feels like Oscar? You want to FIND OUT?!_

" _Not…really…"_

" _A little late for that."_

As Oscar's final moans blast from the recorder, the former Mrs. Kokoshka rises herself calmly giggling like a schoolgirl all the way. She pulls box after box after box from the little closet and tosses its contents about: years of losing betting slips from racetrack, decades of IOUs both legal and personal to the Shortmans, every forged check, every bank statement that declared them broke. All of it rained at the officer's feet like a ticker tape parade. Suzie's giggling intensified into unhinged laughter as she fell to the floor in relief.

Even today, if one stands the right way in the threshold of the former Kokoshka apartment, they can still her the demented laughter that rung out all those years ago.

* * *

Helga looks up from her paper to see Cecile and Eleanor asleep on the floor. The last half hour of the 11pm news blaring onscreen. They were so excited to see daddy on TV that they forgot to nap and…well, the rest spoke for itself. Luckily, Helga took a break from her latest work to record the segment for them. Once Danica Koch and Dylan Hunter signed off for the night, she tossed a blanket atop the two of them, turned the lights off, and tiptoed up the stairs.

Before joining Arnold in their bed, Helga took one last look at the former Kokoshka residence and shook her head in disbelief. There was no murder, no cackling wife or ghost story to speak of. Instead, the man met his maker as a victim of vehicular manslaughter while taking his nephew for ice cream from the Jolly Olly man. Because the driver just had to answer that damn text, he didn't notice the young boy wandering into the intersection. Oscar dashed after the kid, shielding him from the oncoming car.

It still felt weird to everyone that this was how it ended for the guy; Suzie especially. Night after night she had this recurring legal drama style dream of him being murdered at her own hands for all the ways he was a rotten bastard to her and their neighbors all these years. In time, she went insane after the whole ordeal and wound up joining a group home with, of all people, Grandma Miriam.

"…ehrt?" Arnold mumbled as Helga plopped down next to him. "Oh, hey darling."

"Evening football head." She said endearingly. "The kids are snoozing off downstairs and I've just finished another chapter."

"Oh, wonderful darling." He mumbled. "Goodnihg-zzzzz."

"Nighty night my sweet prince." She said.


	11. Nostalgia Act II: Kamala

**Nostalgia Act II: Kamala**

Here we meet Kamala as she relishes her truancy and makes a friend (oh, and Summer is in this too)

A cyclist speeds onto the boardwalk, clearly seeing but showing no regard for the giant sign with skateboards, rollerblades, hover-boards and bicycles with a giant "no" line struck through them. It takes a mile on the boardwalk before her conscience gets the better of her. With a frustrated grunt, she stops her vehicle, slowly pedaling it back to the bike rack at the boardwalk's entranceway. Her hair slowly flows for a moment as she releases it from the helmet she wears. Once it falls to her shoulders, she apathetically combs it into some semblance of a style.

Maybe it was the impersonality of being yet another patron there.

Maybe it was the allure of losing oneself to the sounds dueling each other for space in her eardrums.

Maybe it was seeing people who were actually at peace, or dare one say, happy for a moment in their life.

But for whatever reason, the Spencer Beach boardwalk was Kamala Love's personal playground. She takes a look at her watch and smirks. It had been nearly an hour and a half since the twelve-year-old girl managed to succeed in a daring escape from the principal's office.

It wasn't that she was a delinquent, far from it; she was academically bright (pulling A- to B level work on average), and the few who got to know her for more than five minutes had attested to a softer side. But that side found itself caked under years of a dysfunctional home life and bullying taking their toll. Her father flitted in and out of the picture and her mom's life seemed to come to a crashing halt over losing some sand castle contest involving that beach drama she's geeked over as a kid.

She looked behind her with a satisfied smirk before disappearing into the crowd.

 **(back at the school)**

The police let Summer through and into the school once it is confirmed that she is Kamala's mother. In the Principal's Office she is greeted by the school principal Mr. McLeod, her English/Literature teacher Mrs. Jimenez and a striking, professionally dressed young man she does not recognize.

"Ah, Miss Love." Principal McLeod says hiding his displeasure. "Welcome to my office."

"Principal McLeod, a pleasure." Summer responds with gritted teeth. "Miranda, and…?"

"Dr. Shortman." The young man replies. "Dumb question, but have we met before?"

"Depends on whether or not you've been to the Babewatch Café." She responds.

"I've seen the show, my wife was a fan way back…(ahem!) Anyway, we're here because of Kamala."

"Of course." Summer snarls. "What the hell did she do now?"

"Well," Miranda Jimenez began. "We seem to think Kamala shows signs of aggression-"

"She's a teenage girl, what do you expect?"

A mangled spiral-bound notebook is placed on the desk followed by overflowing manila folders, and math sheet with a 98 dated last week.

"Kamala's writing seems to be quite…vivid to say the least." Mrs. Jimenez continued. "I've always seemed to be quite fond of her assessments in class, and how she ties together her life with the main characters of a given novel. I've even entertained some of her more…um… _creative_ works in spite of the detailed levels violence she seems to pepper them with. Again, I've always believed that creativity shouldn't have to be sunshine and lollypops as long as what you write doesn't translate into the real world…"

" _OK now get to the point._ " Summer thought.

"-but today after math class, she was bought to my office after a group of girls mocked her in the bathroom." Principal McLeod continued. "Apparently, they weren't too happy with her receiving the best grade on a recent quiz and a brawl broke out between the four of them. Her absence in this office is a result of her escaping-"

"-Which brings us to this little collection before you." Dr. Shortman finished. "Threats against specific students, threats against the school, threats against you and a Sandy Colfax. Couple this with her escape and the only recommendation I can make is therapy twice a week. Nothing too intense, but something where we can discuss these anti-social feelings and examine what possible routes to take to make something constructive come from it."

"While this is peachy and all doc, I'm not exactly sneezing gold here, so what pray tell is this going to set me back?"

 **(Spencer Beach boardwalk)**

29.95 +Tax

Outside a hole-in-the-wall pet shop called "Reptile Shack" Kamala munched on a hot dog and looked longingly at a tank of Madagascar Day Geckos. From the reflection on the glass, she notices a member of the boardwalk's constabulary (who clearly had 'rent-a-cop' stamped on his forehead) barreling in her general direction. She bows her head, the last thing she needed was to be caught and hauled back to school to answer for the beat down she administered to a trio of girls in the bathroom. Once it's clear that _Paul Blart: Ocean Patrolman_ was not interested in her, she finished her lunch and entered the store. A faint odor of reptile greeted her as she stepped past the threshold and gandered at the creatures. What truly caught her eye was a taxidermed Monitor on its hind legs.

"I wouldn't touch that." Came a voice.

Kamala jumped up indignantly at the boy her age with red hair and glasses who rounded from the cash register.

"Calm down, Champ!" She snapped back. "I just never seen a _Varanus varius_ in real life before."

"Oh, I'm completely sorry." The young boy replied astounded. "Force of habit you know, so many people come in and try to pet, touch and rub their…well…welcome to our store."

"Thanks. I'm Kamala." The girl replied hesitantly.

"I'm Rod Sawyer." The boy answered. "My dad owns the shop. So any questions you got, you've completely come to the right place."

"Mhm." She said. "Well Skippy, what's the deal with Godzilla here?"

"Oh, that." The boy chuckled back. "I guess wandered here from up north after someone abandoned it. But yeah, this is the reason my dad completely got into reptiles. He found it under the boardwalk ten years back surviving on feral cats and half-eaten funnel cake. Dad always said it was unusually smart for a lizard too, apparently it could read."

Kamala let out a snorting chuckle.

"I'm kinda into reptiles too." She said.

"I can tell." He said. "Very few people my age would know the scientific name of the Lace Monitor."

"Well, precocious misanthropy and lots of books go a long way." She said with a facetious smile.

Now it was Rod's turn to chuckle. From there, the two of them walked around the little shop and bantered, swapping an equal helping of life stories and factoids regarding various cold-blooded animals.

"You know Kamala, if more people like you were in my old school, things would be completely different for me."

"How so?"

"Well, I live here, but go to school out of district because too many people bullied me. Even though I have a core group of friends, my mom's a bit worried that I'm not exactly Mr. Social. So she has me go to group sessions with this Dr. Shortman."

"Dr. Shortman?"

"Yeah, he's cool as far as child psychologists go." Rod continued. "But I think the sessions are more for _her_ benefit than _mine_. Dad's cousin Lila recommended him, apparently they grew up together back in Hillwood."

The front door beeped and in stepped the police officer from earlier with his partner in tow. Immediately one of the two tapped Kamala's shoulder and instructed her to follow them; but not before giving her new friend a final handshake goodbye and stealthily snagging a business card as a memento of their time together.

"Can I at least collect my bike?"


	12. Freshman Semi-Formal 3-3: missing

**Freshman Semi-Formal 3/3: 1+1=missing**

The conclusion, yeah what else can I say? Loads to unpack here. (3 Part story about how Arnold and Helga publicly became an item)

A couple stands in the corner of the gym, neither are capable of finding it in themselves to enjoy the dance.

When it came to gossip, Hedda Hopper and Lord Varys always looked like amateurs next to Rhonda W. Lloyd. Yet the raven-haired rich girl was no closer to cracking the mystery of who wore the distinction of being Arnold's boy toy than she was two weeks ago when the Shortman lad rejected her invitation to the dance and got a face full of pudding from yet another distraught damsel. However, her seemingly juicy buzz on Arnold's sexuality didn't seem to gain traction and withered up under public scrutiny. People either felt he just hadn't met the right girl yet, or were cool with the fact that he might have a thing for guys. As the date of the dance got closer, even members of Rhonda's inner circle found enough courage to beg her to just drop it, quit being bitter, and find someone else to go with.

To her right is Thaddeus "Curly" Gammelthorpe, sipping his sixth cup of punch and fuming as the night goes on around them. He stares at a text two days ago from Rhonda asking whether or not he had any plans that night. Part of him knew deep down why she was asking; Arnold didn't. But would it have killed her to at least NOT make it obvious that he was barely the rebound? She wore a simple black dress that barely grazed her knee (as opposed to the little red spaghetti-strap and sequined sizzler that she'd been clucking over for months) and seemed to go through the festivities on autopilot; and even _that_ was a generous assessment. They danced (or rather _he_ awkwardly dragged her around the gymnasium) for half a song before the two of them decided to call it quits and stand to the side. A position they had found themselves in for nearly three hours.

Curly looks over at the dance then turns his eyes toward his catatonic so-called date. Inwardly, he'd love nothing more than to cause some level of chaos; put laxatives in the punchbowl, pinch some unsuspecting girl's bottom, haunt the revelers as a phantasmagorical newlywed, anything really. Instead he took a deep breath, a last hearty swig and began to make small talk.

"So, having a good night Rhonda?"

The girl lets out a dismissive grunt and returned to scanning the crowd; her face frozen save for her roving eyes. Curly grumbles and goes for shot number two.

"You know," he says. "I talked to the DJ, and with the help of my good buddy Ben, he's assured me the next song is your favorite."

Silence.

Rather than attempt shot number 3, Curly simply leaves Rhonda clenching his teeth and shaking his fists. The whole room slowly turning red. Rhonda and the rest of those attending the dance are oblivious to his absence until an audible scuffle can be heard over the dance music. A spotlight falls on Rhonda as Curly's voice bursts through the speakers. This time however, there is no trace of madcap lunacy or even some measure of enjoyment in the spectacle which is about to commence; rather it's uncharacteristically bitter.

"Ladies and Gentlemen." He booms while standing atop the DJ's equipment. "I Thaddeus Gammelthorpe wish to dedicate this next song to my date Rhonda Lloyd and _ALL_ the girls tossed aside by Arnold Shortman."

On cue, Mariachi band from El Patio bursts through the back entrance playing their rendition of the song "Let it Go." Rhonda looks down at the floor, wishing it would open up and swallow her whole as the lead singer serenades her. Casting one final and potent glower at Curly, she bolts off to the women's bathroom and sobs with abandon as soon as she's alone.

"I can't think of anyone else who is having a worse night right now." She whines.

 **(Elsewhere)**

"Boy Howdy! Helga Pataki is lunch meat."

Amidst the stillness of the night, a boy in a black jacket fumes while aimlessly roaming the streets of Hillwood. The half sipped plastic bottle of Yahoo soda he had been kicking gets one final is punting into the street. It rolls and explodes in a ball of liquid upon impact from the tire of a passing car. It satisfies him, but he just keeps walking, stewing in the turn of events that had transpired. Two more bottles are 'accidentally' dropped onto the sidewalk and follow the first into the road.

"And those two…"

Sid gives a violent booting of the first container which immediately seems to land under the wheel of a passing truck. A muffled popping noise confirms its destruction. The second bottle rolls backward and skids as a tire brushes past. It continues to roll back towards the curb before ultimately meeting the same fate. But rather than relish in the destruction, Sid continues his wandering, his thoughts replaying yet again the very moment when it all went down the drain…

" _THAT'S RIGHT LARD ASS! YOU BETTER RUN!"_

 _Once the dismissal bell rang, every male student (with the exception of Arnold and Gerald) declared open season on Sid, Stinky and Harold. The first ambush began on the track field where they could run only so far before their legs gave out. Harold was the first to fumble; even growing into his weight, the boy's frame was still pudgy, which only made him easy pickings for the irate stampede of guys._

" _SAVE ME YOU GUYS!" He bawled as members of the football team tackled him to the AstroTurf pathway._

 _Upon fleeing to the gym proper, another group of guys stood waiting for Sid and Stinky under the bleachers. All went quiet for a few seconds before they stormed out, pelting the two guys with a torrent of assorted sports balls from all directions. To their horror, all attempts to escape were in vein as upon learning that all the doors had been weighed down by barbells. All except the one door by the locker room_

" _Sid." Stinky called out before a basketball pummeled his stomach. "The…locker room…door…"_

 _Sid made a Bee-line in the direction where his friend pointed. But any relief he may have had was short lived as Curly leapt from atop one of the lockers and pushed Sid back into the gym._

" _What's the idea?!" Harold bawled as members of the Lumberjacks shoved the three of them against the gym's walls._

" _Oh, just a funny little message we got a couple days ago from all our girlfriends." Said Lorenzo. "We just think you guys should see it is all; especially you,_ _Sidney_ _!"_

 _After letting out an audible gulp, the boy with the nose stepped forward and slowly began to read the words on the photograph._

"' _It has been bought to the attention of us, the undersigned, through a concerned female classmate that a plot by Harold Berman and Stinky Peterson to sneak Sid Gafaldi into the Freshman Semi-Formal is afoot. To express our unanimous disgust with not only his…pathetic and creepy attempts at being suave?'- Hey what the actual-?"_

" _FINISH IT SLEAZEBALL!" Curly shouted maniacally._

"—' _we promptly suspend all FSF related plans with our dates until this matter is sorted out.'" Sid said in one breath. "Well, I guess we all suffer when nice guys finish last, huh?"_

 _Rather than dignify Sid's quandary with a response, three defensive linebackers tackled the trio to the ground and sat upon them as Lorenzo turned his phone to Harold and Stinky._

" _Yes, it appears we do." Lorenzo continued dryly. "Tell me gentlemen, which of these John Hancock's appear to be the most prominent?"_

" _Hey, that looks like Patty's signature!" Harold whined. "And Lila's is right next to it!"_

 _They wouldn't!" Both boys yelped in unison after a beat of silence._

 _As if on cue, both the girls in question ominously stepped out from behind the lockers. Each held a cellphone recording the whole scene._

" _Try us." Said Lila dryly._

 _Stinky was the first to crack. [_ _ **cue the "Big Ugly Clown-o" opera music**_ _]_

" _Please Miss Lila. You know how hard it was for me to ask you out, not to mention how those tickets cost a pretty penny."_

" _He's right, I gave up two months of Mr. Fudgy bars for this."_

" _Wow, how romantic." Patty murmured facetiously._

" _You win." Said Stinky on the verge of tears. "I can't speak for Harold, but my hand in this scheme is washed."_

" _I'm sold. Sid can find someone else to do his dirty work."_

 _As Sid looked on in abject horror, both the boys profusely continued to swear that their plans to sneak him in were finished. As the young man brushed himself out in the hallway, he saw crumpled at his feet a wad of paper containing the illustration of a certain made up medal. Scrawled across the image in red Sharpie is the following quote:_

 _ _'Did you think you were going up against a bunch of slave girls? Or did you think women lack gall?_ '_

Before he knew it, the smell of Antonio's brings Sid back to earth. Parking himself despondently by the stoop he watched the diners enjoy their company and cuisine fuming hungrily over how he could cash the check his mouth made against the Pataki girl.

As if there was a God in heaven, Sid stirs as he notices a couple put down their menus. Something about the girl in a pink and red curve-accenting dress seems familiar, but nothing comes to him. It isn't until her equally dapper date with a distinctively shaped head puts down his menu that the pieces come together. A calamari for two is set before them and they share a kiss, oblivious to the figure fumbling for his phone.

 **(Back at the dance)**

The last of Rhonda's tears have long since dried, leaving her mascara to mar her face with rivulets. But she is still weakened from her despondency over her date's little stunt. As she finally starts the effort of peeling herself off the toilet and unlocking the stall door, Patty and Lila enter for a quick break to reapply their makeup, deep in the throes of a friendly argument about the whole ordeal.

"…I'm just saying that when the chips were down, nobody _forced_ him to go with Rhonda."

"Point taken Lila, but if Rhonda just stopped moping about Arnold, he wouldn't have gone all that berserk."

The two pause and laugh.

"Who are we kidding, it's Curly." Lila replied as her breath came back. "But yeah, you have to admit Rhonda was going ever so overboard with the whole deal."

"I mean, Arnold didn't seem to have _any_ interest in the dance." Patty continued. "Although, part of me can't help but wonder what he's doing now."

Lila didn't answer, instead she giggled while pulling a tube of pink lipstick out of her purse.

"What."

"Oh nothing," she said sing-songily.

"Lila, you're smirking." Patty said tonelessly. "Where do you think Arnold is?"

"Well," she whispered after giving a quick look around. "I just had this wild idea that maybe the girl for him is someone all of us least expected?"

Patty lipped out the last half of Lila's quandary until it suddenly, albeit slowly, dawned on her. Had there been no gravity, her eyebrows would have shot straight to the stratosphere.

"You don't mean Helg-?"

"Shhh! Not so loud." Lila continued hysterically as she covered her friend's mouth. "It's stupid but I kinda had a funny feeling she liked him."

"You too?"

Lila stared at her friend.

"Before you moved here, I challenged Helga to a fight over her calling me all these nasty names." Patty began. "The only thing that kept me from pummeling her into oblivion was Arnold. He approached me before the fight and made this really profound case for sparing her, which I did. At the time, you'd think 'oh, that's just Arnold's style; intercessor for the least of us.' No, after that tango I knew there had to be more."

"Oh good." Lila said. "I'm so glad he likes her because, between you and me, Helga has it ever so badly for him."

"Really now?" Patty said inquisitively.

"You understand what I'm about to say doesn't leave this bathroom right?"

Patty mimed zipping her lips and tossing the 'key' into one of the sinks open drains.

"Alright." Lila began. "Remember when we did Romeo and Juliet? And it was ever so coincidental that all of us absconded from the female lead until Helga stood victorious?"

"No way…holy-"

"She was completely dead set on being Juliet to Arnold's Romeo. The effort she put into it was admittedly well played too; Rhonda's pride, Sheena's pacifism, Phoebe's stage fright, girl knew how to make us all tick."

"And how did _you_ tick?" Patty replied.

"I didn't. I made the lucky guess and…heh, heh… won quite a bit more than I bargained for. One minute she went into this ever so manic little rant about how mad she was over him and then just returned to normal when I surrendered the part to her." Lila responded.

Patty stood speechless.

"Remember, not a word to anyone."

"My lips are sealed." Patty said as the two made their exit.

Once the coast was clear, Rhonda threw the door to her stall open with such force that a hinge had busted. Shaking with fury, the Lloyd girl rose herself from her porcelain throne and made her way to the door. Each step reverberated like a gunshot, each furious tremor on her frame measurable by the Richter Scale. As she strolled amidst the revelry, Rhonda zeroed in on the red-headed farm girl and sweetly asked for a word.

"Enjoying tonight Rhonda?"

"What, dares the slave, come hither, covered with an antic face, to fleer and scorn at our solemnity?"

"I'm ever so sorry but what are you-"

"Cut the crap." Rhonda hissed. "I heard it all in the lady's room. You knew this whole time Arnold and Helga were a…(shudders)…thing since we did that Romeo and Juliet play in Simmons' class. That kiss at the end, _'i aLmoST gAGGeD'._ What'd the little cow think would happen the way she played tonsil hockey like that?!"

Lila stood in horror as Rhonda's gossip face went into overdrive amidst piecing together a lifetime of lies and innuendo.

"Literally everything makes sense now." She continued frantically. "The marriage predictor, the April Fools tango, her insistence in making that tape for the San Lorenzo trip, every spitball, every piece of gum she stuck in his hair, every crack about his head…"

A flash of light sparked across her eyes followed by an exceptionally cold cackle.

"Oh my gosh. OH. MY. GOSH. This could destroy her."

"What?" She squealed. "Why would you ever-"

"Come off it Lila." Said Rhonda. "It's Karma: our whole lives Helga's been a little tyrant in the making. And if she thinks that all those years of beat-downs, threats, throwing shade, saltiness, shoving us about, bossing us around, and constantly acting like it's her time of the month aren't going to catch up to her at some point she's dead wrong. But proving this is a tall order, even for me. So the only loose end is some shred of proof."

A ping from Rhonda's phone interrupts their conversation. She groans upon finding out who it is.

 **S.G.: Hey Rhonda, I got something you might find exceptionally juicy ;)**

 **R.W.L.: Goddamnit Sid if this is another dick pic...**

Before Rhonda sent her response, a series of pings alerted her to activity in her DM. The gossip girl's face broke into a twisted mixture of shock and satisfaction over her creepy classmate's clandestine camerawork. Photos featuring Arnold Helga feeding each other, engaged in serious PDA, dancing to the restaurant's jazz ensemble and him opening the door to his Packard for her flooded the screen.

 **S.G.: Oh, how little you think of me.**

"And just like that she's finished." Rhonda whispered. "And you, Lila Sawyer, Little Miss Perfect. I bet you even helped to plan it all out."

"Planned what?"

"'Arnold and Lila.' 'Will they'? 'Won't they'? 'Oh the drama'." The rich girl continued tauntingly. "You were just the patsy that Arnold pretended to fall for to keep their shenanigans off my radar.

"No." Lila said firmly. "He did 'like me' like me once upon a time. Ditto for Ruth McDougal. Even without Helga in the picture, I could never love him. There are just some things a boy can't give you. Even one as strikingly handsome as Arnold."

Rhonda stood unfazed.

"Hmph. Well either way, it's check and mate for Pataki come next week."

Time seemed to warp for the little redhead girl. The room around her seemed to spin and the closing door seemed to inch ever so slowly back to its place within the threshold. Once it returned, a tear began to form in the corner of her right eye.

 **(7:01am that monday)**

Rhonda Lloyd's morning began like something out of _Mean Girls_.

Before the first bell rang, she sashayed down the halls of Hillwood High pulling pieces of paper from a manila folder and scattering throughout the hall. Some were piled up by the entrance way, others were hung on the trophy case and lockers or stuffed under random doors. An entire folder's contents were flung about as she continued her rampage.

Maybe it was old-school in the era of instant social media, but the impact would last longer. A new week, a new slate, a new story for the student body to chew on. As it was, a story of this magnitude didn't deserve to be spread by the old grapevine.

 **(an hour later)**

*ping*

Arnold fumbled around his pocket and finally got his phone. He and Helga sat in the waiting room of Hillwood Auto Repairs watching the mechanics scratch their heads as to what to do with his Packard's latest issue. Arnold watched through the window, frowning as one of the new guys made a crack about calling the Smithsonian, only to receive an elbow to the rib telling him to cram it from a more seasoned mechanic.

 **G.J.: Hey Arnold, where you at?**

 **A.S.: Mechanics. Car wouldn't start. I already texted the teacher that I'd be late.**

 **G.J.: Is Helga with you?**

 **A.S.: ?**

 **G.J.: Keep her out of school! WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!**

Before Arnold could respond, his DM began to ping ferociously. Sid, Rhonda, June, Sheena, Harold, Eugene, Harold again, Stinky, Lila, Lorenzo, Iggy, Brainy, Harold, Harold, Patty, Harold…then Phoebe.

 **P.H.: Arnold, I know better to think you were in on this in any way, but everyone knows about you and Helga. I have to speak to her. NOW!11**

Arnold looked back at his girlfriend as she thumbed through an old Reader's Digest. Horror flooded through his body, then a small wave of gratitude that her phone was charging at home. Then more dread as he began to think of the fresh hell that awaited her.

"Arnold. You look like you seen a ghost? Did we miss a test or something?"

Before Arnold could croak out an answer, one of the mechanics came in to tell him that the car had a snowball's chance of being fixed and that getting something new was his best bet. They arranged an Uber to take them to school (on the company dime of course) for their trouble.

"Hey, Arnold." Helga said reassuringly. "Phil had that car before he got drafted. You took good care of it but…stuff happens."

"It's not just the car." Arnold said. "Helga, I got something you need to read-"

"Whelp kiddos, we're here."

Arnold groaned internally as the car came to a stop in front of their high school. The two grabbed their belongings and shuffled to the school's front door.

"Oh, what was it you wanted me to read again?" She asked while pulling the door open.

But as the football-headed lad tried to gingerly form an answer to her query, the two stepped into the main hallway which went from buzzing with activity to dead silent upon their arrival. For three of the longest seconds of their collective lives, they could hear a mosquito sneeze. Then the murmuring began.

"…Gee Willikers, it is true…holy…So that explains….he could do so much better than…I know right…how long do you think…I knew something was up after…Jesus Christ…of all the people on earth…"

"Alright you yutzes!" Helga finally said. "Just what EXACTLY is the big-"

From the corner of her eye, the Pataki girl sees a picture of her and Arnold together at Antonio's taped to the wall. A Dino Spumoni lookalike serenades the patrons, giving a particular yet subtle gesture to the two dreamy-eyed dancers front and center. Helga opens her mouth in a mixture of mortification and white-hot rage one nudge away from turning the hallway into a raging ocean of blood and body parts. Of course, that nudge came from none other than Harold Berman.

"AWWWWWW! LOOK EVERYONE!" His voice boomed. "WIDDWE HEWGA IS BWUSHING OVER AAAAAHHHHHHHNNNNNOOOOOOWWWWWWDDDD!"

With all the ferocity of a hungry panther, Helga lunges but it is of no avail. The damage had clearly been done and any threat of Ol' Betsy and the Five Avengers had lost its sting amongst the flabbergasted student masses, some of whom begrudgingly protected Harold from the well-deserved beat down that she was ready to administer. The hallway becomes a swirling sea of voices.

"Uh oh, I don't think your boyfriend would appreciate what you're doing!"

"Arnold. Muzzle her with one of your smooches."

"HELGA AND AWWWNNNOOOLLDD SITTING IN A TREE…"

"Gee, and here we thought you had a sensitive side."

"…K-I-S-S-I-N-G…"

"This _has_ to be out of pity. There is no other reason."

"Why her Arnold? Enlighten us."

"…FIRST COMES LOVE THEN COME MARRIAGE…"

Arnold's mouth dries as the jeering echoed all throughout the hall. He felt an ocean of distance begin to grow between him and Helga whose rage now evolved into a paralyzing panic attack that drained her of color and bought about bullets of sweat. Struggling to hold back the tears, the one-time tough girl bolted towards the girl's room. As Phoebe and Gerald attempted to shame their peers back into maturity, Arnold's vision tunneled to that bathroom and he walked in.

"Helga?" He asked.

Silence.

"Helga. I…"

"One stupid Graham Cracker."

"Huh?"

"One. Stupid. GRAHAM CRACKER!" Helga snarled.

Suddenly, a loud thud reverberated around the bathroom leaving a suspicious fist-shaped bump along the stall door. After whispering a curse to nobody in particular it opens revealing an emotionally drained Helga Pataki. Her eyes bloodshot from crying, her face stained with the rivulets of tears, and her usual fortitude shattered. As she speaks she makes her way in a trance to the sink.

"That childish wad of adipose would just DIE if we DARED to deprive him of another one of those measly, flavorless, gritty, cardboard-colored, breakable biscuits! (Sensing Arnold clearly has no idea what the hell his girlfriend is rambling about, she takes a deep breath before continuing)…Did it ever really occur to you when I started to build my walls and become the monster you all know today?"

"Something says Graham Crackers were involved?" Arnold weakly guessed.

"It was snack time at Preschool." She coldly continued talking at her reflection. "that plate of graham crackers was the first thing that I ate, or would have eaten if Harold only had the will power to keep his piggy little snout out of what didn't belong to him."

A flashback hits Arnold like a truck; _Gerald and I found our conversation distracted by Harold's victorious guffaws. While Gerald shook his head, I couldn't help but notice Helga's lips trembling and her eyes welling with tears._

" _Want mine?"_

 _Helga looks up at me. Transfixed she mutely nodded as the plate left my fingers. I return to the table waving over my shoulder to her. Not only is she waving back, but from the corner of my eye, I could swear her face broke into this beautiful little grin._

"Yeah…" said Arnold. "You looked upset so I gave you my snack that day. After that I…you…and Harold…"

"Well let me clue you in to what happened after that." Helga said a little gruffly. "You had my heart hook line and sinker. For the first time, I felt a reason to voluntarily return this weirdly visceral, confusing and yet priceless feeling called love. And it all would have just been so perfect if the little rugrats we went to preschool with didn't just kept their mouths shut and decide not to _MOCK ME FOR IT!_

Arnold stood stunned by this revelation. In a normal situation, he would have told her that kids can be immature and unknowingly cruel, especially at such a young age. He could feel the words of something to that effect forming on his tongue begging for release. Sensing this, Helga cut him off.

"I already grew up with a front row seat to immaturity at its strongest and unhealthiest at home." She said. "Any emotion that smacked of vulnerability was not the Pataki way, so little by little I became the hardest bitch in the pound, walling myself brick by brick until I could one day find the fortitude to tell you, my sainted lighthouse of sanity that I loved you without having to hear anyone chortling like hyenas in a zoo. And that…that was my big mistake wasn't it? Hoping our peers who have the collective IQ of a half eaten donut would ever find the wherewithal to mature past preschool. Nooooooooo! Pink Boy is still an infantile slob. Princess still thinks she's hot stuff. Sid went full neckbeard and…"

To calm Helga, Arnold kisses her cheek. While calmed tremendously by the touch of her boyfriend's lips, she still manages to meekly finish her rant.

"…It'll always be Urban Tots all over again, won't it?"

Arnold sadly sighs.

"Helga…I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am that you had to go through all these years of being angry and mean to us. And…yeah, the maturity of our peers will always leave something to be desired. But, even now, do you know what I see when I look at you? I see a fiery, formidable, female. A warrior. Someone who can stand as a resilient fortress in times of adversity. You've been through more than any of us could even begin to fathom and came out strong… (he gently grabs at her hand)…not 'Ol Betsy' strong but strong in that despite it all you're still this amazingly loyal, brave, and empathetic young woman. And right now, there's a whole world waiting for her."

Arnold offers out his hand to Helga, she takes it and together the two blondes slowly shuffled from the girl's bathroom and back into the now quiet hallway. The boys who had felt her wrath stood slack-jawed at how gently her fingers entwined with Arnold's hand. The girls who once jockeyed for his heart cursed inwardly as his eyes lovingly matched with Helga's.

After a while, everyone grew to accept it. In time, other juicier rumors and scandals ousted the whole 'Arnelga' thing from the labyrinthine grape vine that was high school gossip. Yet in many respects, the shock never truly went away. Some of the girls continued to grumble well into the winter break of their senior year, and every lovers quarrel (as rare as they were) garnered the attention of plenty a female spectator. Every now and then, a freshman girl would make the mistake of going gaga over the dashing, charismatic and pleasingly-scented Shortman boy only to have their hopes of landing him quickly dashed by a more seasoned peer of either sex.

"He's dating _HELGA_?!" They'd shout. " _ **THAT**_ _**HELGA**_? …How…Why…?"

And the response would always be the same to words.

"Nobody knows."

 **AN: Whoof! Lot of writing here, thanks for everyone's patience.**

 **Because of other fic ideas and life commitments, I'm thinking of putting this fic on hiatus.** **If other ideas come I'll add them at a later date, but LBTJ is essentially finished** **upon the conclusion of Nostalgia Act (which I am considering spinning off into its own work sometime down the line).**

 **-HD**


	13. Look at this Photograph

**Look at this Photograph**

Stella and Miles' stroll down Memory Lane sheds light on a long forgotten chapter in Arnold's past (Contains references to my Young Loath fic)

"Oh my gosh Miles, your senior portrait."

It had been nearly a year since Arnold's adventures in the San Lorenzo jungle, but hearing the voices of his mother and father in the walls of the boarding house still made his twelve year old ears perk excitedly. And that Saturday was no exception.

The football headed kid had an hour before he and Helga were due to meet at the park. As he made his way to the kitchen for a glass of water to calm his nerves, he saw from the corner of his eye Miles and Stella cooing over a large chest of photos and other mementoes. In his mother's hand was a red and blue book marked _Hillwood High: 1977_.

"Really now?" Arnold responds. "I got to see this."

The boy only had only heard one story of his father's time in high school; and it wasn't exactly a pretty one. Finding Miles was easy all things considering. It didn't take long for Arnold's eyes to gravitate towards the blonde clump of hair that topped his jar-like head. Even in high school, his day to day clothing was explorer's outfits.

"You expecting something more hilariously dated right?" Stella replied.

"Yeah, a little." Arnold shrugged.

"Well, flip over to Prom Night." Miles chuckled.

Arnold gaped and laughed at the two pages of afros, platform heels, lurex trousers and leisure suits of every hue. The laughter turned into an abrupt yelp upon the sight of a particularly hirsute Bob Pataki in a gold zebra disco bomber jacket and matching pants with two other members of the football team.

"Oh. Ho ho." Miles chuckled. "Classic Pataki. That was like, what? Two weeks after I beat him up over my anthro notes. Boy did I get in a heap of trouble for that one."

"Well if you're done traumatizing our boy." Stella said jokingly, "I found another photo album from _my_ childhood if he's so inclined to look."

After shaking the image of his girlfriend's father's chest hair out of his mind, Arnold took the album from his mother's hands and flipped through the pages. He stops at a photo of two well-dressed girls waiting on the stoop of their house. The two girls sitting under the tree look nearly identical; ovular heads, lanky frames, and auburn hair. Were it not for little differences here and there (particularly in height), one would swear they were twins. Something about this long lost Aunt triggered a sense of déjà vu. But from where? The taller of the two girls holds another football headed baby boy. Scrawled on the back was the following caption: _The MacNeille Children-Spring 1967_.

"Oh look, Aunt Roze and I before Easter Mass." Stella said. "I was so jealous about her getting to hold Uncle Mathew."

"I didn't know you had another sister." Arnold said.

"Oh yeah." Stella replied. "Your Aunt Roze was four years older than me. Boy did she let me know it back then, but all in all the two of us were kind of close."

"How come I never met her?" Arnold asked. "I know Uncle Matt and Cousin Arnie don't visit all that often because they live out in the country. But where did she go?"

"Roze was supposed to attend college later that year, but then she eloped with this hippie and disappeared after half a semester." Stella sighed. "Oddly enough, before we left for San Lorenzo she just called out of the blue to tell us she'd moved to the other end of Hillwood."

"She's still married to the guy." Miles interjected. "I'll never forget his name, Elmer McDougal. I think they had a daughter who is around your age…Something with an 'R'."

"Yeah, it's Ruth." Stella replied. "Ruth McDougal."

Arnold felt every nerve snap and go into overdrive. Between his budding relationship with Helga and an equally childish infatuation with Lila, Ruth had come to occupy that corner of his mind where the cringey thoughts were shoved away and forgotten. But when he looked at his mother, then back at his memories with Ruth, so much suddenly made sense.

(Flashback: Preschool)

 _Last thing I remember was Helga punching me in the face. I just bought her lunch and then…boom. She must have hit me pretty hard because when I came too I swore my mother was back, looking down at me. It had to have been her again, back from San Lorenzo with dad. It had to be her, and nobody else._

" _God you look like crap."_

 _Mom never talked like that. Then again, I had seen grandpa lose his temper and use some colorful language in his own right, with some of the borders and me. I still had to know._

" _Mom."_

 _Her response was that of laughter. Not derisive laughter, but enough to tell me that I was wrong. So they were still lost after all. Still, I learn that the name of this mystery girl is Ruth McDougal and the fact that she both lives in the city and that she's an extraordinarily identical to mom in many respects was amazing. She snaps at my face, trying to bring me back to reality._

" _Arnold. My name is Arnold."_

 _It is then that I realize I'm lost. That grandma and grandpa are probably ready to call out the cavalry for me. I tell Ruth I live at the Sunset Arms building. She smiles and offers to take me home._

 _As we walk the distance, I stare can feel something growing in my chest over every detail of Ruth McDougal: the way she smiles, the color of her hair, even her walk. I lost mom and dad to the Jungles of San Lorenzo, and every day hope dimmed little by little. I couldn't lose her. Even as she rounds the corner after returning me to Grandma and Grandpa, I just had to have her in my life. Losing her would be like losing them again, especially mom._

"Hey Shortman." Phil suddenly interjects. "I hate to break you guys up but your little girlfriend with the one eyebrow is at the door."

 **(Later that day at the park)**

"Hey Helga, there's something I never understood."

"Mhm?" She asks.

"Remember back in preschool when I got you a Bitty Biters meal from Sub King and you punched me? Why?"

"Oh," she begins remorsefully. "I thought you were Brainy."

"Brainy?"

"He began sneaking up behind me a lot." She responded. "I could always hear him wheezing away and did the only thing I could think of."

She looks down at her fist and begins to sigh.

"You know, Bob had it all figured out once upon a time; he was going to have the perfect girl in Olga and the perfect boy…until I was born. I knew I'd never get his love as a daughter, so the best I could shoot for was his approval. Because of that I became a rough around the edges kind of girl: beating people up, tearing people down, doing what I had to when it came to competition. Sometimes I've wondered, especially with dad and all, what everything would have been like had I been born a boy."

Arnold shakes his head vigorously as the image of Big Bob at Prom comes back into view. Before she could ask what that was all about, he smiles sheepishly and kisses her cheek.

"Believe me Helga, we're all very happy you're here as you are."


	14. Dino Checks Out (For Real)

**Dino Checks out (for real)**

Obituary for Dino Spumoni: Big Band Crooner and Rat Pack Hanger-on **.**

Dino Spumoni a long-struggling singer best known for the songs "Back in the Swing", "Smashed" and "You Better not touch my Gal" died yesterday morning of natural causes at the Drymon Medical Clinic. He was 94.

According to his autobiography _My Last Bow_ , the lifelong resident of Hillwood was born June 28th 1932 to Salvatore and Evelyn (nee Cavallucci) Spumoni. As the baby of the family Dino had a great deal of work cut out for him to be heard, let alone loved. "I was the last of eight children and both parents worked at a nearby canning factory…" He would later write. "…and we lived in a boarding house to boot! Were it not for the fact that I could sing and play piano I'd simply be a ghost."

A long but strained friendship with the late songwriter Don Reynolds began in Dino's early years when the two of them were caught swiping hubcaps for extra money. According to an interview shortly before his death, "Dino would distract everyone with his singing while _I_ did all the real work. Still though, we made a killing. It wasn't until we were pinched by the cops that he learned that I wrote poetry. Not mushy 'moon, spoon, June' crap but good stuff. After both our parents painted our back porches red, we limped over to the piano and cranked out a couple of songs."

Dino got his big break at Hillwood's Circle Theatre at the age of 24 while working as a bar back and occasional emcee. It was on one of those nights that he had been asked to momentarily entertain the crowd while a pay dispute occurred backstage between the club owner and that night's headliner Maurice Chevalier. Amidst the crowd that was serenated that night was none other than E.R. Lewis of MCA records who immediately booked him as a warm-up act for the Rat Pack.

By the late 1950s, Spumoni appeared to have the world at his feet with three number one hits under his belt. "You Better not touch my Gal" was one of the first top forty hits nationwide and a guaranteed crowd pleaser, while "Smashed" and "Back in the Swing" further cemented his place in the 50's Big Band pantheon. But even there, he was clearly the odd man out; "the Zeppo Marx of the Rat Pack" as Peter Lawford once put it.

"Looking back, the rest of the Pack had something, you know?" Dino would later admit in an interview. "Lawford married into the Kennedy clan, Dean Martin did the Jerry Lewis thing for a while and Frankie...Frankie was Ol' Blue Eyes. I remember barely being out of diapers and my sister Alotta swearing she was going to be Mrs. Sinatra one day. Then there was me. Some kid they plucked from nowhere and told them to play nice with."

"You gotta figure, Sammy [Davis Junior] was born in 1925, the baby of the group." Dino continued.

Spumoni's career began to implode as the culture embraced rock and roll as well as psychedelic music. In a twist of irony befitting O. Henry, his fear of becoming a washed up fossil lead to failed attempt after failed attempt at staying musically relevant. Inspired by the success of former New Christy Minstrel Barry McGuire, Dino released the critically panned and quickly forgotten _Tripping with Dino_ in 1968. Even today, the lead single "Wakka Wakka Wow!" remains forgotten even amongst connoisseurs of terrible music, save for one performance on the Lawrence Welk Show. Other flops in the Spumoni discography include _Strange Daze_ (1969) and _Dino's Groovin' One Man Band_ (1972). After dueting with acts like RUN DMC, Guns & Roses and Tiffany, Spumoni released one last album in 1998 after a two decade hiatus. Like the others, _Yo Dino Raps_ tanked. Despite commercial failure, he managed to live on the good life's fringes; being a favorite of the rich and famous and welcome guest at the White House during the Johnson years.

Dino's personal life was also riddled with tragedy. He was married five times throughout his life, all of which ended rancorously to say the least. Personal comments about any one of his ex-wives can't be reprinted here for obvious reasons. Though his immediate family often spoke glowingly about their famous sibling, Dino regretted never truly spending time with them once fame came about.

After a feigned suicide in 1999, Dino began to make peace with life. He devoted his time to performing at school dances in the area, co-wrote and composed "Ain't This a Great Old Block" in 2002 which remains something of a big deal in Hillwood, and devoted the rest of his life to mending the relationships with his surviving family and friends.

Spumoni was predeceased by his parents, siblings, his songwriting partner Don Reynolds, five of his ex-wives and stepson Jimmy who died in a boating accident. He is survived by his loving daughter Nancy, an ex-wife Candy Maldonatto, her niece Connie and wife Maria, as well as his friends Arnold and Helga Shortman of Hillwood. Funeral and interment will be private.


	15. Perfection

**Perfection**

Turns out, Helga isn't the only Pataki with a talent for love poems

From youth I learned the spotlight was where mom and daddy loved me.

I drove myself neurotic to be the best where'er they shoved me.

Trophy room, Bennington, Minute Waltz.

God forbid the little Beeper Princess have faults.

As I bloomed and business boomed, the boys tore down the door.

And at the risk of sounding haughty I found it all a snore.

While some were nice with no sparks, and others bought to mind a clyster.

I still felt vexed regarding why my heart skipped for no mister.

She waltzed into my life the day I sought to be a mentor.

Ne'er did it occur to me she'd in time rock my heart's center.

Our friendship blossomed as years went by, we shared each laugh and soothe each cry.

When I'm with her I feel like I could die (And that would be all right, all right)

I thought I'd gone to heaven when she returned the way I feel,

but it's not until I wear the ring that I know it's real.

The wound-up future Stepford wife, the redhead from the farm.

Who knew they'd find perfection in each other's arms?

 **AN: Congratulations to Kryten for winning the Flowerprincess 11 challenge!**


	16. Nostalgia Act III: The Reason you Suck

**Nostalgia Act III: The Reason you Suck**

Summer and Kamala address the prospect of therapy (Again, gets intense. You've been warned)

The ride home was quiet between the two.

Behind the wheel of a ten-year-old sedan sat a befuddled Sandy. Every time he felt he had something to say to her on the tip of its tongue, it fizzled and kicked off another extended period of silence. To his left sat Kamala, who boiled over with fury and resentment. Some people cast daggers with their eyes when angry, but the adolescent girl launched nuclear weapons at all she surveyed from the window.

* * *

 **(Earlier)**

 _My day started like any other. Classes, more classes, lunch, recess, you know the deal. The only thing that stood out was that today we were finally getting our grades back from last week's math quiz._

 _I got a 98; best grade in Mr. Lamoreaux's class. I should have felt good about it; and for a while I did. But all that seemed to change as three particular sets of voices whisper furiously amidst themselves. From the looks on their faces, it's clear that Steffi Lang, Krissy Dvorak, and Johanna Morton all received less-than-stellar marks._

 _As Mr. L. turns his back to continue his lesson, I feel my heart to plummet like a convicted criminal on the gallows; To the left of me, six specific pairs of eyes began to glower at me from across the room. The most threatening of the bunch, Krissy, balls her hand into a fist and pounds it into her open palm vigorously while Johanna lips the words 'you're dead meat ' to me. Three simple one-syllable words that ominously clang like funeral bells for the duration of the class._

* * *

"Well, you're home Kamala."

The instant his vehicle came to a complete halt, the irate prepubescent girl forcefully heaved the door out of her way and gave it a kick shut. In the blink of an eye, Kamala watches the silhouette of her father shrugging to himself, before peeling down the avenue and into the night.

"I guess it's one of those off weeks." Kamala emotionlessly mutters as she fiddles with the doorknob.

The sounds of a Babewatch marathon on TV greet her as she passes the threshold and flings her backpack onto a nearby chair. What else did she expect? That's all her mother's life amounted to: Babewatch, Babewatch, Babewatch. If the walls had ears, they would have bled out a long time ago from that bleating electric guitar riff that passed as a theme song.

* * *

 **(Earlier)**

"… _and now our grades shot, you bet it's only a matter of time before we can kiss the cheer squad goodbye." Krissy sneered._

 _The girl's bathroom had four stalls. Just my luck as to whom was occupying the other three after class. I hear them ripping up their assignments and flushing them away._

" _Meanwhile, how about Kamala? 'I gOt The HigHEst gRAde in ThE eNtIRe clASS. LoLz, i'M sOoooOOO wONDerFul aReNT, i?'" Sneered Steffi. "I'm surprised she didn't demand we kiss her feet before leaving class."_

 _Krissy let out a derisive snort._

" _All jokes aside," Steffi continued. "The apple didn't fall too far from the tree if you get my drift. Her mom Summer was apparently a stuck-up bitch too."_

" _Word?"_

" _Deadass. According to my Aunt, not only did the entire goddamn solar system revolve around Summer Love, but she never let anyone forget it. Every time she didn't get her way, she'd just turn her nose up and spew out some B.S. about how they'd all be asking for her autograph years down the line…"_

 _I listen unsurprised to the litany of insults and innuendo they hurl against my mom, and by proxy me. The allegation that burns me up is the one where the teachers collectively conspired to give me an A- at the very least because they all endured my mother's ego back in the day. It wouldn't surprise me. In fact, it would explain a lot. To calm myself, I steal a glance at my phone to check the time and realize five minutes separates me from my next class. Unfortunately, leaving the stall means having to face my classmates and whatever retribution they feel I justly deserve for my 'arrogance'._

 _The only course of action is to crawl beneath the stalls. With a deep breath, I scoot onto all fours and begin my degrading trek along the frigid slab of filth that is the bathroom floor. The final stall is within sight before I know it. As I push my back pack out from the final stall, I peak my head out from underneath and make a run for it as best I can._

 _But it's still not enough._

" _Well, well, well. Speak of the devil…"_

* * *

Greeting her from the fridge was a potpourri of leftovers from half a meatloaf and a bag of slightly wilted mixed salad, to a General Tso's pork and rice combo and scattered doggie bags from the Babewatch café. After piling her plate with a little from each option, Kamala grabbed a can of Iced Tea from the crisper and closed the refrigerator.

"Three months suspension AND therapy?!" Hissed Summer the instant the door clicked shut.

Unfazed, Kamala turned to face her irate mother as she pulled a plastic fork from the cupboard and poured the tea into a glass.

"Look who crawled off the couch and decided to be a parent."

"SIT! DOWN! KAMALA!" Summer Thundered as her daughter started to make a bee-line toward the other threshold out of the kitchen. "You and I are going to have a little talk about this attitude you have at school."

This wasn't the first 'talk', nor would it be the last. It seemed like a lifetime ago where her mother's wrath sent a chill down her spine, somewhere along the line however, it was just white noise; like the caw of a seagull or crash of a wave. This time was very different; the little candle of rage inside Kamala seemed to burn a little more brightly—melting away any sense of numbness that came from being subjected to one too many 'talk'.

"Oh, school? I love school." She replied putting on her most facetious 'little girl' voice. "Did'ja hear about the 98 I got on the math test I had this week? Oh boy oh boy, I can't wait to put it on the fridge!"

"This is what I mean." Summer replied angrily as her daughter seated herself. "This is the seventh call I got this week alone about your antisocial behavior: fights, backtalk, false fire alarms. What's next? Shooting up your gym class because you hate Mondays?"

For a second, Kamala's eyes lit up as she mulled over the image of her bullet-riddled classmates laying in a heap as she hoisted two semi-automatics in the air. Summer notices her daughter's face and rightfully balks.

"Jesus Christ Kamala!" She responds throwing her hands skywards. "The only thing you got going for you here is that I'm not footing the whole bill for this. It's bad enough that every time I got to fish you out from a detention that's MONEY FROM MY JOB I'M LOSING! Money that (oh who knows?) could get us a better house or put you through college, or **NOT** go towards your peers' hospital bills. Or a new window for your school. Or into the pocket of whatever bubble-brained sorority bitch deluding herself into believing she can fill in for me the café every time you decide to act out."

"And you…you don't even care do you? "She continued. "You're a thankless brat who couldn't give a flying rats sphincter on a stick about anything I provide for you as a parent. I hope to God you gain some iota of perspective and maturity from this experience."

Deep in the recesses of Kamala's brain, the white-hot temper she had been holding back all day began to grow. The teenager's eyes darkened and glazed over, akin to two freshly dug graves on a winter night, and her lips curled into the most demonic frown she could muster. Every cell in her body pulsated violently as her mother berated her for being the monster _she_ created. But the last comment went way too far. Slowly, she rose herself and without any warning violently hurled the glass across the kitchen. Once it shattered from impact, sending a torrent of glass and liquid across a great deal of the kitchen, Kamala doubled down on her display of aggression by shoving the table across the floor with all the strength she could muster and then some.

"I GOT YOUR PERSPECTIVE SUMMER, **RIGHT** **HERE**! MAYBE I WOULD BE A LITTLE MORE THANKFUL FOR WHAT YOU PROVIDED IF YOU…OH I DON'T KNOW…ACTUALLY STEPPED UP TO BE A MOTHER! MAYBE YOU COULD START WITH RUNNING A HOUSE THAT SERVES AS A LITTLE BIT MORE THAN JUST A SHRINE TO SOME CRUMMY OCEAN LEGAL DRAMA YOU WERE HUNG UP ABOUT IN HIGH SCHOOL **HIGH SCHOOL FOR GOD'S SAKES**! BABEWATCH THIS, BABEWATCH THAT, HELL, EVEN MY FRICKING NAME MAKES ME WONDER WHETHER OR NOT I'M JUST ANOTHER ARTIFECT IN YOUR MUSEUM!"

"AND WE'RE JUST GETTING STARTED! YES, THAT'S JUST THE TIP OF THE ICEBERG IN MY TWISTED WORLD! AT SCHOOL I'M BATTING CLEANUP TO THE MESS YOU MADE BACK IN THE DAY WHEN YOU FLOUNCED THROUGH THE HALLS BELIEVING FAME WAS GOING TO KICK DOWN THE MAIN DOOR AND PLUCK YOU FROM OBSCURITY! APPARENTLY, THEY ALL THINK _I_ INHERITED YOUR EGO! DID YOU KNOW TODAY WAS THE FIRST 'A' I EVER GOT ON AN ASSIGNMENT?! NOT AN 'A-' OR 'B+' BUT A REAL HONEST TO GOD 'A'?! OR THAT WHEN I WAS PLAYING HOOKY I MADE MY FIRST REAL FRIEND TODAY?! THINK ABOUT THAT, ELEVEN YEARS OLD AND TWO MILESTONES I SHOULD HAVE REACHED BEFORE NORMAL BODY PARTS ARRIVED!

For the glimmer of a moment, shock coursed through Summer in the wake of her daughter's outburst. In some attempt to reestablish control over the situation, she slapped her daughter with such ferocity that the young girl falls to the floor.

"You've got some nerve talking to me like that." Summer snarled. "But you're young, someday you'll learn what real disappointment is. What it's like to find the strength to get out of bed despite a crushed soul. To settle for crumbs while the world-"

"Oh, shut up." Kamala laughed bitterly as she pushed herself off the floor. "Here you go again, crying about that sand castle contest you lost to some tourists two decades ago! Moaning about some walk-on role in a tv show you didn't get two decades ago…*laughs*…MISERY THY NAME IS SUMMER! You have the nerve to call me immature, have you seriously looked at _**yoursel**_ _f_?! You're _**thirty-three**_! _**That**_! _**Alone**_! Should give you enough motivation to look for REAL employment that can actually support a family. And…and if that weren't enough, you're still playing all these games with dad despite your unbridled contempt for him… just…just end it already. Don't give him the satisfaction of a booty call when you're sopping with equal parts liquor and self-pity!"

"I'm seeking treatment-" Summer hissed.

"Because you were caught guzzling vodka at work!" Kamala shot back viciously. "And even that's too charitable; you don't go to work, you attend some LARP fantasy camp that just happens to pay you for serving food to novelty seeking schmucks. Did it ever occur to you that people seek treatment for alcoholism because they actually want to get better and be better people? _You_ got sober to keep your looks, and by extension your seat on that beat-up Babewatch nostalgia train. You always wanted to be noteworthy, well congratulations: not only are you're ONE step away from being every other bloated, pathetic has-been, but you've cheapened battling alcoholism in the process."

Spent from her fury, Kamala scrapes her dinner off the floor and silently retreats to her room.

* * *

 **(Earlier)**

 _Before I knew it, I'm clutching my stomach and coming to on the cold and filthy tile of the bathroom floor. Once the stars are out of my eyes, I'm helplessly watching my notebook being disemboweled and joining all three of their quizzes page by page down the toilet._

" _Don't think we didn't watch you leaving class like your shit don't stink Kamala." Johanna sneered. "I'm sure your bitch mother would be proud."_

 _*Another flush.*_

" _How is Summer these days? My Aunt is dying to know, really." Steffi asked facetiously. "Did she ever get to Hollywood? Or is she still flirting with paunchy dads for a bigger tip at the café?"_

 _*Another series of flushes*_

" _Think of what we do as a public service." Krissy said. "We're giving you a little lesson in humility, for free! Back me up girls, I think we ought to start charging a little something for our services, don't you agree?"_

 _Johanna and Steffi nod and laugh at their friend's proposal._

" _So, three of us, we're gonna be a little generous given your…situation at home and put the fee at five bucks for each of us. How does that sound?"_

" _Oh, I got your five, right here…"_

* * *

The last crumbs of her dinner had been consumed, and the plate was tossed aside in a gently but unceremoniously onto a heap of dirty clothes in a hamper. Kamala scrolled through her phone, listlessly reading all the ire dumped into her direct message box. It made her think of that well-worn saying about how people remember the outburst but never the provocation beforehand.

"Everyone has something to say now." She mutters as the phone receives an equally callous lob.

Kamala rummages through her pockets and pulls out the card from the reptile store. A Mona Lisa type smile flashes across her face as she mutters the picks up the phone again and begins to look it up online. The store was closed but its social media presence had plenty of pictures from past events. Yet it's not the pictures of Garter Snakes and Chinese Water Dragons that seem to catch her fancy this time, instead she finds herself wooed by the image of a certain red-headed boy holding a tortoise from a Midnight Madness sale three years prior to her visit earlier that afternoon.

 **(Downstairs)**

With her daughter out of the way, Summer rummaged through the cupboard until she found a half-empty bottle with Cyrillic letters. For almost five years, she had tried her best to stay away from everything that bottle represented. But as she casts one last glance towards the stairs, and by extension to Kamala fuming in her bedroom, the beleaguered woman venomously unscrewed the lid and downed a good mouthful of its contents. After an additional two more swigs, Summer returned to her pitiful vigil before the television just in time to see the closing credits wrap up.

"Stars-N-Stripes continues their 'Best of Babewatch' marathon with the episodes _you_ the audience voted for." The announcer said. "Up next, _your_ pick for the episode with the best walk-on role."

Summer knew this episode all too well and hated herself for it. She could say every line verbatim with her life on the line if need be, and it burned her soul with the heat of a thousand suns. Her face contorted into a permanent frown as Captain Lifeguard Mil Buchan escorted his out-of-town niece onto the Orange County beaches. Sure enough as Mil's "niece" shook hands with the real Kamala Ellison, the following credit faded in and out of the bottom center of the scene: Guest starring Helga P. as _Cousin Francesca_ and Arnold S. as _Mason_.

"I hope you little brats are happy." She fumed drunkenly. "Wherever you are."


	17. Curly's Girls

**Curly's Girls**

"…And what's his deal with women anyway?"-Helga Pataki (1999) AN: mentions nudity

As the reception carried on into the night, those who attended the soiree at Hillwood's Museum of Fine Art were far from speechless about the exhibition of the local artist known only by his childhood nickname. Around the hall, attendees gawked and gave their two cents on slabs of scrap metal ranging in sizes from a standard door to a license plate. All had been adorned with the sight of women in various stages of undress or in the throes of carnal pleasure; with the tame ones bringing to mind the pinups of Alberto Vargas or Dean Yeagle while the more surreal pieces earning comparisons to the animator Ralph Bakshi.

Each panted babe looked down at the guests as they stuffed their faces and gave their assessment of the twisted genius behind their creation. Some paid a great deal for the piece of their liking, remarking that it was a raw and unflinching look at sexual frustration that sizzled with passion and the denial therein. Others sneered at the sight before them, calling it "tasteless", "pornographic", and "a pathetic adventure into the attention-starved mind of an emotionally hindered being" while making their way back for a second round of desserts.

Yet, the genius himself and man of the hour stood a far off from the crowd in a stairwell munching on the final morsel of shrimp that sat on his plate. The praise and derision alike rolled off him like water from a duck's back. As he stared down at the festivities below him, Curly could only feel stoked that he'd made it this far.

 **(High School)**

 _"Thaddeus Gammelthorpe. Your presence is demanded in my office."_

 _The tone of Principal Fetner as he called for Thaddeus sent a collective chill through the student body, yet the young scholar in question emotionlessly rose up from his seat, exited the door of his class, and began his trek down the hall._

 _Deep down, he knew today would come._

 _Upon middle school, the Gammelthorpe patriarch came to the realization that enrolling his son in dance lessons wasn't keeping his head screwed on right. The final straw came after the young man received a month-long suspension for an April Fools Day prank involving a grass skirt, tiger patterned body paint, and bags of chocolate pudding (an act that resulted in his teacher mentally spiraling out of control and moving out of the city). He was sent to art camp the summer after sixth grade where all seemed to go well for two years. The program provided him with an avenue of controlled rebellion to create whatever he desired and kept the lad too busy to wreak havoc. In time however this too failed to tame the twisted spirit of Thaddeus "Curly" Gammelthorpe. Already volatile to begin with, pubescent urges and curiosities motivated him to forge his father's signature in hopes of getting into a human form drawing class that featured nude models. One female figure in particular seemed to catch his eye, and in the process sent the proverbial hill of beans crashing down._

 _Despite this knowledge had reached the camp directors and Mr. Gammelthorpe, the damage had already been done. Fresh off the realization that Rhonda would never have feelings for him, Thaddeus began Sophomore year of high school flexing his perverse creative muscles at every possible opportunity and then some; images of the female form in all it's anatomically correct glory marred paper after paper be it in notebooks or whatever scrap sheets had been fished from the wastebasket. After school, said drawings were sold for five dollars a pop to his hormone addled fellow students. But while he showboated in the face of a seemingly endless stint in detention, the scorn of the women, and nightly reprimands from his father, he was smart enough to keep any figure of authority from obtaining any physical copy of his art by storing them in folders in his backpack, thus basing all punishments on hearsay._

 _Nobody knew how those folders came into the possession of Principal Fetner, but what was clear was that he was all too ready to throw the book at the kid. In the end, rather than a suspension or expulsion, it was decided that Thaddeus' punishment was being banned from having so much as a stick of chalk. Starting tomorrow, he would be given an AlphaSmart, upon which all future class work was to be done. Any hand-written assignments were to not be accepted by the teachers._

 _Little did all involved in that decision know that as he returned to the class, the wheels in Thaddeus' head whirred violently with thoughts of vengeance._

 _A day later, Principal Ian Fetner entered the men's bathroom to find the window shattered, the mirror above the sinks expertly removed and a full color mural of two nude pin-up style woman engaged in coitus spray-painted on the empty area in its place. Upon further examination; not only had three additional murals of a similar nature been graffitied onto the rear space of the bathroom stalls, but all the toilet paper dispensers had also been disconnected as well. A similar scene was found in the girl's bathroom as well as the locker/showers._

 _But what made the whole scene creepy was that after his act of insurrection, Thaddeus Gammelthorpe had vanished into the either. His final address being in the form of a recorded message left at the door of Principal Fetner's office where he laughed about 'what a busy boy [he] had been that night' and swore of a grand return where his genius would be lauded by the city's finest art critics._

 **(Fifteen years later; Louisiana)**

 _"I'm telling you bro; if you thought this guy's work was good on this baby, imagine seeing it on your ride."_

 _Rex Smythe-Higgins V looked out the window of the car belonging to Russel as they drove along Highway 23 in Louisiana. They college kid had heard so much about this "Curly" guy from his fauxhemian friend at Louisiana State University who practically worshiped the ground he walked on, much to the former's annoyance. But it wasn't until Russel came back with a blonde Sixties go-go dancer in red and green airbrushed on the hood of his car that Rex started having a change of heart in regards to his friend's man-crush._

 _Before long, Russel and Rex reached a little town called Belle Chasse in the greater NOLA metropolitan area and pulled up to a studio along Idlewild Blvd. Their collective entrance into Curly's studio was heralded by the jingle-jangle of the little bells ornamenting his front door._

 _To say art changed Curly was an understatement. The fourth grader that once pulled a fire alarm in retaliation for an overused pencil or held his school hostage over not being given ball monitor duty was by all accounts delightfully kooky in most social settings. With half an hour between him and Bourbon Street, the madcap young man had a front row seat to the revelry he craved. His brand of work could fit right in with the plastic breasts adorning Mardi Gras beads, or the nude clubs dotting every block. He had quickly established himself amidst the city's art scene, specializing in spray-painting/airbrushing recreations of the female form on scrap sheet metal. However, the real bread and butter came from those looking to have some of his artwork adorn their cars._

 _The request of his most recent customer was straightforward: a three breasted extraterrestrial version of the pinup queen Bettie Page in a tiger bikini. It took two weeks, but once it was finished, all Curly could do was sigh in both relief and awe. After he left a message to the owner, the young artist catches a glimpse of himself in the rear-view mirror by happenstance, and feels the joy and satisfaction of a day's work evaporate as he makes his way back to the gallery/shop portion of his property._

 _He had been a busy boy over the years; the five hundred and fifty scrap metal paintings of babes in his store coupled with the boxes upon boxes of others that flooded his basement could silently attest to that. But every now and again, it would hit Curly that he wasn't getting any younger, the space in his house to hold his creations wasn't getting any bigger, and the years that passed between him and his vow of coming back to Hillwood with the city eating out of his hand were increasing. But the tinkering of the bells above his door bought those thoughts to a crashing halt, and on a dime, he put on a happy face for the sake of his guests._

 _"Ah, Russel. I assume you're still getting mileage out of my handiwork?"_

 _"Indeed." The less preppy looking of the duo replied. "But today it's my friend that is here to pick up the van."_

 _"Ah, yes, the space pinup guy. This way my good man."_

 _The two men made their way into the rear garage to marvel at the fruits of Curly's labor. The owner of the car couldn't have been any more pleased with the work as he cuts the artist a generous check._

 _"Thanks Dude."_

 _"No problem," Curly responded as the money order goes into his wallet._

 _Inside the shop, Russel continued to gawk at the seemingly endless display of work along the walls of the boutique atop the studio. One piece that caught his fancy was a busty brunette with short hair reclining luxuriously on a bed of white mink fur._

 _"Ah, a man of taste I see." Came a voice from behind him. "Would you believe me if I said that you're looking at none other than one Rhonda Wellington Lloyd?"_

 _"You're kidding, of RWL Fashion?" Rex suddenly laughed. "Oh man, she and my dad were in the same finishing school back in the day…yeah, Madame Parvenu's."_

 _"The same. I guess you could say she was a muse of mine at Hillwood High." He said while ringing the piece up for Russel._

 _"The likeness is extraordinary." Rex continued as he took the bag from Russel to study it. "Man, dad was not wrong when he said she was a total babe. Oh but dealing with her in real life was a whole other ballgame. She was such a priss. Always going on and on about whatever vapid fashion was in vogue or failing to get the attention of some cute boy. Typical rich girl drama. Oh to be a fly on the wall if she saw this number hanging up at the next big gala at the Hillwood Art Museum."_

 _The room went dead silent for a moment as the wheels began to turn in the ambivalent aristocrat's head._

 _"You kno_ _w…I think I'm getting an idea…"_


End file.
